


I Found Peace in Your Violence

by eyessharpweaponshot



Series: Bellarke Big Bang [2]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bellarke Big Bang, Bellarke Bingo, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Suicide, Mutual Pining, Protective Bellamy Blake, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 95,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyessharpweaponshot/pseuds/eyessharpweaponshot
Summary: Clarke Griffin has it all. She’s popular, an artistic prodigy and has a wealthy family to boot. So when her perfect world comes crashing down around her, it’s time to sink or swim.She tests positive for the Homicidal Tendency Syndrome gene, also known as the kill gene. Clarke is plucked from her comfortable life and placed into a school with people just like her - carriers, delinquents.When she meets Bellamy Blake there, he looks like everything they say HTS carriers are. A monster, a criminal. Yet, he’s the one who protects her.Clarke thinks existing in this school is the hardest thing they’ll have to do, but as the outside world falls into chaos, she soon learns that things can always get worse. At Mount Weather training camp, they’re made perform certain tasks that make them question who they are - make them wonder if they really are as evil as the world accuses them of being.At least she has Bellamy. Clarke isn’t sure how they are supposed to be these violent monsters when they can do something so human, like fall in love with one another.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Bellarke Big Bang [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859326
Comments: 1009
Kudos: 777
Collections: Bellarke Big Bang 2020





	1. So Many Versions of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this fic is taken from the book "Uninvited" by Sophie Jordan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. This is my [Bellarke Big Bang](https://bellarkebigbang.tumblr.com) submission for 2020. A massive thank you to Chloe for running it.
> 
>  _Fic title:_ Silence - Marshmello & Khalid  
>  _Chapter title:_ Beyond Today - James Gillespie
> 
> To Miranda, who stepped up for me with this fic and created the most amazing [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and two gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)) - I'll be forever grateful. My original paired artist let me down and the kindness that Miranda showed me has been unparalleled. So glad wonderful people exist.
> 
> I want to say a massive thank you to [Ciara](https://twitter.com/cantloseyou_too), [Essie](https://twitter.com/Pawprinter1) and [Hana](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com) who pre-read some chapters/the whole fic for me and offered endless encouragement and hype. Forever grateful to you.
> 
> A special thanks to [Mobi](https://mobi-on-a-mission.tumblr.com) for beta reading it and helping me iron out some creases.
> 
> And finally, thank you to all my bellarke big bang discord babes for all the late night sprinting, the support, kindness and being the absolute legends that they are.

_"Yeah, I'd rather be a lover than a fighter,_   
_'Cause all my life, I've been fighting._   
_Never felt a feeling of comfort,_   
_All this time, I've been hiding._   
_And I never had someone to call my own, I'm so used to sharing._   
_Love only left me alone, but I'm at one with the silence._

_I found peace in your violence._   
_Can't tell me there's no point in trying._   
_I'm at one, and I've been quiet for too long._

_I'm in need of a savior, but I'm not asking for favours._   
_My whole life, I've felt like a burden,_   
_I think too much, and I hate it._   
_I'm so used to being in the wrong, I'm tired of caring._   
_Loving never gave me a home, so I'll sit here in the silence."_

* * *

_July 16, 2022. More than 19,000 registered carriers._

**News report for immediate release following the latest report on HTS from Charles Pike:**

As the general public is already aware, our government is taking further precautions to protect our citizens against Homicidal Tendency Syndrome carriers. Studies have shown that there is a predisposition for extreme violence in HTS carriers and an obvious correlation between the HTS gene and convicted murderers. This information, combined with the increase in capital crime, forces us to increase testing protocols.

Testing is now being made mandatory in all schools and places of employment. Testing will begin in schools this coming September.

* * *

“Finn, we’re going to get into trouble, _again_.” Clarke giggles, too absorbed in the sensation of her boyfriend kissing lines down her neck to really put a stop to it.

“A scowl and an order to get to class isn’t really getting into trouble, Clarke,” he mumbles against her neck, letting his teeth graze her skin a little.

“It is for me.”

It's not a lie. Clarke has never been in trouble a day in her educational life. Still, she lets her eyes fall shut anyway, basking in the way it feels to be worshipped by this boy. It's hard to protest when he's making her stomach flutter. Finn always has a way of drawing her in, making her forget about where they are or what they’re supposed to be doing. He’s hot, wanted by almost every single girl in school. A senior, a quarterback — and he’s all hers. His long, brown hair stops just above his chin and he sports a bad boy attitude which makes him irresistible to Clarke. 

“Five more minutes.” He says it like an order rather than a plea.

“It’s never five minutes.” She laughs but it's cut short as he captures her lips with his, swallowing the sound.

She hums against his kiss, smiling as much as she's able. Lately, it has a permanent residence on her expression. She sometimes wonders how she got this lucky. Of all the girls he could have chosen, Finn picked _her_. She reminds him of this on occasion, just to hear him reassure her. He always does, telling her that he couldn’t resist her bright smile across the lunchroom, that her long, luxuriously blonde curls caught his eye every morning at the gates, that her prettiness was no match for any girl here.

It’s all superficial and maybe a little conceited of Clarke to want to hear it, but she can’t help it. The butterflies that rise inside of her at his words make her want to take flight. These have been the best six months of her life. He doesn't talk about her art that much and sometimes, she wishes that he'd see her more deeply than just her appearance. But it's something she's willing to overlook if it means keeping him. It's a small price to pay.

“Seriously?” Josephine’s voice swings past them. When Clarke opens her eyes, her best friend has her arms folded and is already rolling her eyes. Her golden locks are perfect in their place which makes her seem innocent and angelic but her eyes are devilish, piercing them sharply enough to draw blood. “Does he ever get down off you?”

Finn pulls away from Clarke, a look of annoyance already ingrained in his eyes. “Take your jealousy elsewhere, Jo.”

“Fuck off, Finn,” she bites back. “Come on, Clarke. We’re gonna be late for Art History.”

Clarke squeezes Finn’s hand, hoping to transfer her apology through it. She kisses his cheek to erase the frown from his face at being interrupted. He and Josephine have never seen eye to eye, too busy fighting for Clarke’s attention and time. Clarke tries to balance her schedule between the two of them but as she and Finn grow more serious, it’s getting harder.

She’s looking forward to the fall when she’ll be at Sanctum. They’ve already offered her an early place based on her gift for art. It was her dream to attend the best university for the subject and now, it has become a reality. What’s more is, Finn will be attending his own university just one town over. Josephine is flying a couple of hours away and even though Clarke adores her, she’s glad that she’ll no longer have to divide her time between them.

Graduation: that’s the dream. A few more months.

“Find me at lunch?” Finn calls over his shoulder to her as Josephine links Clarke’s arm, not patient enough to give her time to say a proper goodbye.

Just as they’ve taken a step, though, Clarke’s phone rings. Checking the caller, her brow furrows when she realises it’s her mom. Josephine makes the same face, knowledgeable to the fact that Abby is usually at work and never calls Clarke in the middle of the day, let alone in the middle of school.

“Mom?” Clarke answers, a little worry in her tone already.

“Clarke,” her mother says sharply, panic in hers too.

“What’s wrong?”

Finn has turned back around and he and Josephine are frozen to the spot, their eyes on her.

“You need to come home, _now_.”

“What? Why?” Without even knowing what’s going on, Clarke’s heart is beating rapidly in her chest. It feels like a gun is about to go off any moment, she’s just waiting for the shot. Her head is spinning, searching for a reason why her mother would want her home in the middle of the day. “Is it Wells?”

Her stepbrother always had a knack for getting into trouble. Well, what their parents thought of as trouble. He’d much rather attend some peace rally or protest march instead of turning up for class. It’s a miracle he graduated at all. He spends a lot of time working in a youth centre on the outskirts of Shallow Valley. Even Clarke can admit she’s nervous for him being there. It’s not exactly the safest place, given the rise in violent crimes and robberies. They are mainly reported in that part of town, although some of it is bleeding into their community more lately.

This has to be about Wells.

“Clarke, just get home. Quickly,” her mother instructs before hanging up, leaving Clarke clueless as to what is actually happening.

She stares at her phone for a second before looking back up to Josephine and Finn. "I have to go home."

“Is everything okay?” Josephine asks, brows pinched.

“I don’t know,” Clarke admits, her stomach tightening.

“I’ll inform Mrs. Lee that you’ll be missing the class,” Josephine promises while Finn takes Clarke’s hand, squeezing it as if for reassurance.

“Come on,” he tells her. “I’ll drive you.”

Clarke gives Josephine a short wave before following Finn down the corridor. They pass a few of their classmates on the way but Clarke can't bring herself to be her usual bubbly self with them. She brushes them off with a polite hello and doesn't stop to talk. Once they're out in the parking lot, she smooths down her navy uniformed skirt for something to do with her hands. Nerves are sparking inside of her and nausea is blooming in the pit of her stomach. More than anything, she hates the uneasy energy floating through her veins. What the hell is going on?

She glances up at Mr. Lightbourne’s pillared mansion overlooking the campus. Will he mind that she’s leaving early? Their principal is a stickler for time keeping and attendance.

“It will be fine, I’m sure it’s just Wells being Wells.” Finn reaches out and squeezes her hand again.

When she looks at him, she feels like maybe this situation won’t be as bad as what she’s thinking of in her head. She gives him a short smile, relieved that he’s here with her.

April is encouraging fresh leaves on the cherry blossom trees around the school. They line the parking lot, petals dusting the ground below them. Clarke decides that she’ll paint the scene in front of her later and pins it to her memory. When this mysterious problem is solved at home, she’ll pick up her brush and paint the view of the white school from the parking lot and the contrast of the pink trees in front of it. Art always makes her feel better, at ease and safe.

Tiny pink flakes have already fallen on top of Finn’s car since this morning. He brushes them off when they reach it and opens the passenger door for her. Despite being summoned home in the middle of the day, despite the tension in her stomach and the unsteady beat of her heart, Clarke can’t help but smile. He's so nice to her.

The luxurious leather of his BMW sticks to the skin on her legs as Clarke adjusts herself, watching Finn cross in front of the car to reach his side.

The short ride home is quiet and it allows the panic to start creeping back up to full volume. Clarke bounces her legs anxiously as she wills the car to go faster. She shoves her hair back out of her eyes, scraping her nails on her scalp as they pass through town. Some of the shops that were once expensive boutiques have wooden boards on the windows now, closed because of vandalism and burglaries. It's on the news every day about the increase in crime and it normally puts Clarke on edge because of the demise of their world’s safety, yet now, all she can think about is the problem at home.

God, she hopes everyone is okay — that nothing bad has happened.

Clarke’s heart sinks even further when Finn pulls up outside her house and she sees her mother pacing on the porch, still dressed in her hospital scrubs, obviously waiting for her. As if that wasn’t unnerving enough, Clarke spots Thelonious’ car in the drive. If her mother being home in the middle of the day was odd, seeing her stepdad home at this hour is damn near unheard of. She also notices another two cars at the side of her house, parked neatly on the curb. She doesn’t recognise those ones.

Her mother has come down the steps by the time Clarke has gotten out of Finn’s car. Finn has gotten out too, walking her the short distance over to her mom.

“Thanks for bringing her home,” she addresses Finn, her eyes not lingering on him long before they’re back on Clarke.

The message is clear: _leave._ Finn’s not an idiot and apparently, he reads between those lines easily.

“No problem, Abby,” he says politely before pressing a kiss to Clarke’s cheek. “Call me later?”

Clarke nods, her entire body buzzing. Her parents like Finn. It’s not like her mother to be so rude and it unnerves Clarke even further.

She hears Finn’s car reverse out of her drive as the front door closes behind them. Clarke wishes he could have stayed, even just for a little emotional support. For some reason, she senses that she’ll need it.

As she follows her mother further into the house, drawing closer to the living room, Clarke can already hear her stepfather’s hard tone. It’s the one he uses when he’s projecting his authority, his Chancellor’s voice.

The echo bounces down the hallway to Clarke. "I don't believe that for one second."

“My hands are tied, Thelonious. We have to follow protocol.” The responder’s voice is familiar but Clarke can’t place him.

“You didn’t mind ignoring it when it was Wells,” Thelonious snaps.

Turning the corner into the living room, Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up when she finds Mr. Lightbourne sitting on one side of the couch. He looks foreign in her home, like he is somehow refined to the campus grounds and never expected to be anywhere else.

There’s a woman with brassy blonde hair sitting opposite Mr. Lightbourne, her eyes snakelike and brutal. They focus on Clarke the second she comes into her line of vision, like a predator watching its prey. She’s dressed in a cheap suit, loose around the shoulders and too short around the ankles. Clarke has been taught to appreciate good suits, having grown up around her stepfather who always wore Gucci and Prada.

Thelonious has a glass of rich brown whiskey in his hand, clenching it tightly as he paces in front of the fireplace. Her mother stands at the end of the couch, arms folded like she’s uncomfortable. She doesn’t even sit down in her own living room.

Wells is nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Lightbourne nods at her in greeting. "Clarke."

“Sir.” She smiles tightly at her principal, politeness engrained in her. “I’m sorry I’m home in the middle of the day, my mom called and said —”

“Don’t worry,” he says, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “This is Diana Sydney.” He gestures to the woman across from him.

“Hello, nice to meet you.” Clarke is about to outstretch her hand like she’s been brought up to do but thinks better of it when Diana doesn’t even acknowledge the introduction. It’s like Clarke isn’t even worth talking to. Her silence is enough of a response.

“Enough of the niceties,” Thelonious cuts in and when Clarke looks at him, she realises he hasn’t met her eye at all since she’s come home. Clarke stands close to her mom, feeling like she needs the comfort. Not that her mother is looking at her either. “I wrote a cheque the last time,” her stepfather rants.

“It’s not the same thing,” Mr. Lightbourne responds.

“A sizable donation and everything was fine,” Thelonious continues like Mr. Lightbourne hasn’t answered him already. “Why not this time? This is _Clarke_ we’re talking about. She’s a goddamn prodigy!”

_This is about her?_

Clarke feels the floor shift, like her world is tipping off balance. A dizzy sensation washes over her and she's suddenly feeling more vulnerable. What’s happening? What could she possibly have done?

“I’m aware of that, Thelonious, but this is out of my control.”

“The hell it is, Russell!” Thelonious yells and Clarke jumps.

Her stepfather has never had to raise his voice to get his own way, to be heard. He’s trained in the art of patience and etiquette and can demand the attention of the room by just his posture alone. Clarke has never witnessed him lose control like this, never seen a panic in his eyes like this one. He attends the country club with Mr. Lightbourne sometimes so she wonders why this was something that had to be solved here. Could Thelonious not have called Mr. Lightbourne on the phone like he usually does?

Thelonious slams his glass down on the marble mantlepiece of the fireplace before storming out of the room. Clarke glances to her mother who is simply staring at the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Something is really wrong. Clarke aches to know what it is but also, part of her doesn’t want it to be revealed. She stands poker straight, afraid to move an inch in the tension soaked room.

Silence drapes across the place like a disease and Clarke finds herself zoning in on her easel in the corner of the room, imagining she was painting right now. Anything to distract her from the rapid pace of her heart. It’s right by the bay window, overlooking the town. Their house is on a height, giving them the perfect view of Shallow Valley. Clarke spent many evenings painting the skyline, trying to capture the precise colour of the sunset.

Her mind is racing and she tries to slow her breathing by focusing on the many paintings around the living room. They are paintings she created, ones that her parents were so proud of her for. She lets her eyes rake across the photos on the mantelpiece, hoping to grab onto the happy memories in them and keep them with her for this, almost like a security blanket.

There are many individual photos of her at different ages, usually taken when she was holding a paintbrush or a piece of charcoal. Her eyes rest on a family photo of them, it was the day that Thelonious and her mother got married. She’s standing next to Wells, both of them smirking at one another like the mischievous kids they were at that age. Beside that photo, there’s a single one of her father. Her dad was an amazing man, taken from Clarke at the tender age of 7. He was the one that got her into art, who used to sit at the kitchen island with her and just draw and paint for hours.

Clarke’s eyes eventually float to Mr. Lightbourne, who is already staring at Clarke like she might somehow pounce on him at any given moment. His strong jawline ticks twice before he speaks.

“How are you, Clarke?” he says with detachment, nerves in his eyes. He says it slow, like she somehow might not understand him.

“Fine, Sir,” she replies warily. “How are you?”

“Great, all good,” he says with too much enthusiasm. His eyes jump from the doors to the windows, like he’s planning an escape.

Diana Sydney, however. She’s a different story. This woman doesn’t look uncomfortable or nervous — she looks confident, assured, determined. She stares at Clarke like she’s here to teach her a lesson.

Clarke is glad of Thelonious thundering back into the room and she knows it’s bad when she prefers this drastic anger to the uneasiness of everyone else. Her stepfather has always been kind to her, supportive and lovely. He’s treated Clarke like his own from the second he came into this family. It’s strange to see him like this, so on edge — so angry.

He slaps his chequebook on the coffee table in front of Mr. Lightbourne. “How much?”

“It’s not something money can buy, Thelonious.” Mr. Lightbourne shakes his head. “She isn’t coming back.”

“Back where?” Clarke blurts out, brows pinched in confusion. She glances at her mother who is wringing her hands together, nervous. It’s clear that Clarke is being blatantly ignored, like she’s not even in the room. It’s madness because this whole thing is about _her_.

“ _How much_?” Thelonious shouts, causing Clarke to step back behind her mother even more.

“I’m sorry.” Mr. Lightbourne now stands, obviously trying to remain poised. “Truly.”

“Russell,” Thelonious calls to him as her principal leaves, passing Clarke with a noticeable distance. “ _Russell_!”

Mr. Lightbourne ignores her stepfather’s calls, exiting the living room at a steady pace. Diana follows along behind him, pausing briefly in front of Clarke. The disgust on her face is more obvious up close.

“See you tomorrow at nine sharp. My office.”

“What?” Clarke utters, totally confused but Diana is already on the way out of the room, not bothering to address her any further.

Clarke looks to her mother, half laughing. "I can’t meet her anywhere tomorrow, it’s Wednesday. I have school.”

“You don’t have school,” Thelonious responds, eyes glazed over as he stares at the coffee table.

Clarke has been uneasy since her mother called her in school but now, the feeling is choking her. It's like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room and replaced with concrete, heavy and cold and suffocating.

“Mom?” Clarke presses for a response from her mother.

Her chest is rising and falling heavily in her navy scrubs and her nails are digging into the edge of the couch. Her whole complexion has turned pale and when she talks, her lips barely move. "Oh, God."

Clarke’s stomach is churning and there's prickles of anxiety washing across her chest. She’s never seen her parents react like this. They are the most controlled people she’s ever met.

“What’s going on?” Clarke’s voice rises now, maybe just to snap them out of this — to transform them back into the parents she knows, the ones that make her feel like nothing is too out of control or worth panicking over.

“You’ve been uninvited,” Thelonious answers, eyes still trained on the table below him.

Clarke recoils like she’s been slapped. Uninvited? As in expelled?

“ _What_?” Clarke half gasps, half whispers.

She hasn’t done anything, she’s never even been in detention. This has to be some kind of mistake. Even when she’s sick, she goes to class. She’s a top grade student, she’s polite to all her teachers and she’s already had an acceptance letter from the most prestigious art university in the country. How the hell could she be _expelled_ from school?

Her mother finally turns, her eyes connecting with Clarke’s for the first time since she has come inside. She looks like she’s gathering the strength from somewhere, seemingly preparing herself to deliver a final blow.

“You have the kill gene.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of all my fics, this one killed me. The amount of times I almost scrapped the whole thing, threw my laptop across the room, cried over the state of it and felt like giving up. It made me doubt my abilities as a writer endless times but alas, it's here now and I made it to the end.
> 
> This fic was written as part of [Bellarke Bingo](https://www.bellarkebingo.tumblr.com) (an event that Essie and I are running). I'm crossing off the tropes _based on a book_ and _protective bellamy_ from my bingo card with this one. You can find all of my bingo fics [here](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625259821279690752/my-bellarke-bingo-fic-guide).
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	2. They Will Run You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the overwhelming response on the first chapter. As I said, I really felt like this fic wasn't up to scratch but I felt all of the reassurance from you guys. I'm so lucky to have such awesome readers.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Way Down We Go - Kaleo

* * *

_Tuesday, April 18, 2023_. _More than 36,000 registered carriers._

**Headline of the Daily Mail newspaper:**

HTS — HOW LONG ARE WE GOING TO LET MONSTERS TERRORIZE OUR WORLD?

Civilians all over the world are growing more and more concerned over HTS carriers and demand that more needs to be done. Testing is now being made mandatory in Italy, Spain and France with countries such as the United Kingdom, Ireland, China, Russia and Australia already following the lead of the United States.

* * *

Clarke has been told that she’s special all her life.

She was talented at art from an early age and could colour inside the lines at barely two years old. She could draw things from memory by three and could sketch from real life like a photograph by six. Prodigy was the word passed around, gifted, blessed even. Art was something Clarke was good at without even having to try. Something she could get lost in, something that could take her away from the stress and pressures of everyday life with a mere swipe of a paintbrush.

She has the brains and talent, not to mention the money behind her, to take her wherever she wants to go in life. Her mother always told her how lucky she was to live an advantaged life and not to squander it like they thought Wells did. That being privileged wasn’t something to be ashamed of and she should make the most of it. Her mother always told her to chase her dreams and Clarke's dream was art.

Of course, Clarke had other aspirations during her childhood. Maybe she'd be a doctor like her mother, a Chancellor like Thelonious, a teacher like her father. A vet, a firefighter, a circus performer. Somewhere around the age of 7, she wanted to be a princess. Before her father died, he helped Clarke paint her whole bedroom purple and drew outlines of castles and knights in shining armour on the walls. A princess was definitely a solid dream of hers.

She never thought of being a killer.

Clarke can barely recall them testing. It was at the start of the school year, before Clarke and Finn were even together. The board insisted everyone was tested but it wasn’t a surprise. It was becoming mandatory everywhere in the country these days. Thelonious even had the people in his office tested.

Bet he thinks of it as bitter irony now.

Clarke remembers being called out of class, annoyed about it because she was missing valuable art time. One quick cotton swab in the mouth and it was done. Her DNA in a tube, sent away for a test she didn’t even have to think about. She wasn’t a killer. At least, she didn’t think she was.

God, what will her friends think about her when they hear? Finn, Josephine? Will they look at her with the same fear as Mr. Lightbourne did? The same uncertainty as her parents? Or will they look at her with absolute disgust, the same as Diana Sydney?

Her heart hammers inside her chest, not having settled at all since the revelation downstairs. She’s sure it’s going to come out through her throat at some point. All Clarke can do is pace the room, run her hands through her hair and hope her pulse calms down.

Her purple bedroom contains none of the security or familiarity it did from yesterday. Then, she was a normal girl in a place she imagined as a castle and herself as a princess. Now, she feels more like a prisoner in a dungeon, here because of her own doing. She can’t face her parents, can’t immerse herself into the argument they’re having downstairs about her.

Clarke had tried to draw, doodle, paint — anything that would usually distract her. But her mind won’t work right, won’t connect to her artistic hand. Her previous plan of painting the cherry blossoms at school seems so stupid now. Nothing could distract her from this.

She sits at her vanity, stares in the mirror and studies herself — trying to pick out any difference, any sign that says she is a killer. She can’t find a single one. Her blonde curls fall just below her collarbones and her milky complexion looks normal to her, despite being a little peaky. Her eyes are rimmed with redness, a clear sign that there’s tears in there just begging to escape. Nothing looks all that different, yet everything is.

She exhales loudly and reaches for her laptop, needing something productive to do. She types in HTS and the search engine brings up Homicidal Tendency Syndrome. It’s a fucking joke. This has to be a mistake. There’s been a lot of studies done that link people with the gene to violent tendencies. Having this gene somehow equates to people being liable to break. Considering the world has had an increase in violent crimes lately, Clarke gets it. It makes sense to have a source for violence and when there’s chaos or danger, people need one thing to feel even just a little safer: logic.

They need a way to identify it, Clarke just isn’t sure that they have it right. It just doesn’t fit with her. She’s not dangerous, she’s never even yelled at anyone before. She can’t even recall having a goddamn tantrum as a child, let alone a violent outbreak as a grown girl.

Clarke sees Charles Pike, the discoverer of the gene, in images across her screen. She clicks on one of the videos of him interviewing death row inmates. God, she’s not like _them_. Boasting about their kills, proud of them. Some of them have the letter ‘D’ tattooed on their neck, the mark of carriers that committed a crime when they were still under the age of 25 — a delinquent. The government started marking them on Pike’s instruction, to warn the public that people so young can still be dangerous.

People like _her_ , apparently.

Clarke attends a private school. She has hardworking and wealthy parents. She has an unnatural skill for art. She’s dating the quarterback at her school. She has loads of friends and a bright future. How is this her life now?

She scrolls through articles about the TonDC bomber, the Grounders shooter. How could a test say that she is like them?

“She’s not a killer, Thelonious.” Her mother’s voice is shrill, the despair obvious even with the distance between Clarke and her.

“She has it, Abby.” Thelonious’ voice booms up through the floorboards. “They say that sometimes, the gene is dormant until triggered. They don’t all start out as monsters.”

Clarke’s eyes fall shut. God, is that what she is now? A monster? To her parents, to the world?

Her heart feels heavy enough to fall out of her chest. It’s hitting her that she can’t go back to school. She’ll never eat lunch with Josephine and the others again, never kiss Finn against the lockers. Any interaction she has with them will be outside of school hours, depending on whether they still want to be around her or not.

Before, if Clarke knew that somebody tested positive for the kill gene, she’d cross the road to avoid them. Now, she realises that she was just naive. Just because society says you are something, doesn’t mean you are. Or maybe there’s some credit to what they’re saying after all — maybe one day, she will really snap. She’ll be forced to her limit and she won’t think twice about what she has to do to survive.

Everything has changed in the blink of an eye. She has to go see Diana Sydney tomorrow, who Clarke now understands to be her caseworker. Someone assigned to keep her on the straight and narrow, to keep an eye on her. Like she has already murdered 50 people.

A knock on the door makes her look up. Wells pokes his head into her bedroom.

“Hey.” He grins, no hint of nerves on his face at all which is a relief. Maybe she's not a monster to him.

“Hey.” Clarke relaxes but remains solemn because she can’t find it within herself at the moment to smile back at him.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Clarke nods while silencing her phone again because Finn has tried calling for the tenth time.

“Not gonna answer?” Wells asks, coming over to sit on her bed. He lies down on it, making himself right at home as he faces her.

Clarke shakes her head. She can’t talk to Finn right now, can’t tell him the truth of what’s happening. She isn’t ready for the rejection.

“This is all crazy, you know that right?” Wells says reassuringly, like this whole thing is an elaborate joke.

“I apparently don’t know anything.” Clarke slumps back in her vanity chair, staring at her fan on the ceiling.

“Clarke.” Wells leans up his elbows, scoffing. “Come on. You, a carrier of the kill gene? Nobody would believe it.”

Another shout from her mother downstairs rumbles through the floorboards, followed by Thelonious yelling in response. Clarke gives Wells a pointed look, like that should be enough of a reply to that statement.

He smirks in true Wells fashion, rolling his eyes. “Everyone will see, _you’ll_ see. In a few years, HTS will be discredited. Some scientists will come along and say there’s no logic or validity to it.”

Clarke shrugs, silently hoping that he’s right.

“When people are scared, they need to feel in control." He sits up straighter with his eyes trained on her. "It’s bad times out there, Clarke. HTS is something people are using to feel more secure against all the monsters out there.”

“Like me,” Clarke mumbles, fiddling with her father’s watch on her wrist. Not even that can give her comfort now.

“ _Not_ like you,” Wells corrects her.

“Well, in the meantime, I’m uninvited from Arkadia.” Clarke sighs, refusing to show how sad that actually makes her.

“Pfft.” The amusement in his voice is too obvious. “Lucky you. You know how many times I tried to get uninvited from that pretentious dive? All for dad to keep buying me back in.”

Clarke giggles, feeling like herself for the first time since the revelation downstairs.

Being the Chancellor's son, great things were expected of Wells. He should be everything Clarke is — popular, clever and promising. He should have a future set in stone and the money to get him there. Instead, he delighted in going against the grain. He hated the poshness of Arkadia, hated everything the school stood for. He despised coming from privilege when there were much more important things going on in the world, hated the pompous teachers there and did everything he could to get himself uninvited. Maybe it speaks volumes of the pretentiousness of Arkadia when they use a term like ‘uninvited’ instead of ‘expelled’.

If Thelonious wasn’t in the position he’s in, Wells would definitely have been kicked out. Now, he works at the youth centre instead of at his father’s office. He’s clearly not the son his father wanted.

Wells chuckles along with her and it feels good to have this sense of normalcy. She’s glad to have her stepbrother in this moment. They’ve always gotten on, since day one. He may be a few years older but he always made time for Clarke. And now, he’s the only one that’s there for her.

For the first time since finding out that she’s a carrier, tears spring to Clarke's eyes. She wishes she was still a small girl — painting a princess crown on the walls of her bedroom with her dad, playing chess with Wells, watching football on TV. Back when HTS didn’t exist. Back when she still had the future she wanted.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Wells says softly, getting up from the bed as a sob escapes her. He wraps her in a hug and she tucks herself into his shoulder, aching for this to just be a bad dream.

“You’re the good one,” he murmurs against her head. “I always wished I was as talented as you. Come on, don’t let them win. Prove them wrong, prove that you’re more than a test result.”

“I don’t know how,” Clarke admits pathetically.

“You’re a fighter Clarke, just get through this. Don’t give up.” He squeezes her shoulder. “Promise me?”

Clarke lets a few more sobs fall out before taking a breath to steady herself, drawing strength from his words. She has no choice — she has to do this.

“I promise,” she mumbles, hoping she’ll feel more determined in the morning.

* * *

Diana Sydney’s office is a small cubicle in the centre of twenty other cubicles. All caseworkers, working with carriers just like Clarke.

Clarke's mother sits beside her, clearly uncomfortable on the hard plastic chairs underneath them. Or maybe she’s just uncomfortable to be here altogether — in an office building surrounded by violent people and their wardens. The sounds of phones ringing and computer keys tapping fill the space, along with the murmurs of people around the office.

Clarke twists her father's watch around her wrist, uncertain of what lies ahead of her. She woke up with a pounding headache, still in this nightmare that is her life right now. She had hoped it wouldn’t be real when she opened her eyes this morning.

Her grey sweater feels scratchy and Clarke remembers why she hates wearing it. She had fished it out from the bottom of her closet this morning, barely paying attention to what she was choosing. She was just going through the motions of getting dressed. During the week, Clarke is normally in uniform for school. _Guess she can forget about that_. She didn’t bother with any makeup either, just brushed out her long hair and left her appearance at that.

Her mom had insisted on coming with her this morning, a forced smile on her face that was less than comforting. Clarke knows she’s having trouble adjusting to this, hell, she can’t really blame her mother. Clarke is having trouble adjusting too.

“Okay.” Diana sighs on the opposite side of the desk, shuffling through papers and files. “Let’s get started.”

She looks up at Clarke, finally ready for her after leaving her idle for what felt like a lifetime. She leans over and holds up a device in front of Clarke’s face, shaped like a scanner that processes the food labels at supermarkets. It beeps twice and Clarke’s face pinches in confusion.

“Face scanner,” she clarifies. “We need to have a recent photo of you on our system, just in case.”

 _Just in case._ Clarke practically has to stifle her scoff. Just in case she breaks and murders half the population of Shallow Valley?

“I’ve already alerted Polis high school. They’ll be expecting you tomorrow.”

Clarke snaps her head in her mother's direction but she is simply staring at Diana. Not a word leaves her lips and Clarke wonders what she was expecting. It’s obvious that she can’t go back to Arkadia and there’s nothing that her mom could say right now to change that. Still, it feels like a shock to the system to find out she’ll be attending another school. Again, Clarke doesn’t know what she was really expecting.

“School starts at nine,” Diana continues like she’s not talking to a human being across from her. “But you’ll start at eight and finish an hour earlier at three in order to avoid fraternizing with the general population.”

Clarke bites the inside of her lip. _The general population._ She doesn’t fall into that category anymore. Her world has been Arkadia since kindergarten and now, she has to attend a different school where she can’t even interact with the other kids there. Anxiety spreads across her body at the thoughts of somewhere new. Polis is a public school downtown but other than that, Clarke doesn’t know much about it. She rubs her palms against her jeans, a buzzing feeling under her skin.

“You’re turning eighteen in a few weeks,” Diana says without looking up from her file. Clarke is sure there’s a bunch of information about her in there and she wants to see it, wants to see what they’ve labelled her as. “You don’t actually have to attend once you’re of age.”

Clarke doesn’t miss the unspoken words of that sentence: “ _You don’t have to bother completing your education — you won’t need it anyway.”_

It’s true, no college will accept her now that she’s a positive carrier. She’s just waiting for the rejection letter from Sanctum, revoking their offer. Clarke bites her lip again, almost letting the feeling of despair overcome her, but then Wells' words echo in her head.

_“Don’t give up.”_

“I’ll be graduating from school,” Clarke states, a touch more confident. No, a touch more _pissed off._

She won’t let them take her education from her, even if it’s not from her private school. She won’t let them win. She’ll prove she isn’t a failure, that she’s worth something.

Diana and her mother both shift their gazes to Clarke, considering her, it seems.

“Fair enough.” Diana shrugs one shoulder, scanning the file in her hands once more.

She thinks nothing of Clarke, that much is obvious. Clarke isn’t used to people being so dismissive of her. She always held people’s adoration, drew out their praise without actually asking for it, was commended constantly for how talented she was at art. Being associated with the Chancellor of Shallow Valley also demanded some respect in her corner. Now, she’s tossed out into open water where no name or skill will earn her anything. She’s on her own.

“Carry this all the time.” Diana hands Clarke an ID card with her picture on it. “Familiarise yourself with the regulations on HTS. Ignorance of the rules won’t excuse you for breaking them.”

Clarke’s mouth is dry but she forces herself to keep eye contact with Diana. She refuses to be shrunk by her, no matter what she’s saying. Still, she’s careful. She doesn’t want to come off as brazen or even dangerous. She just wants to appear confident, certain that she can do whatever is asked of her — but given she’s a known carrier now, balance is key.

“Curfew is 10pm sharp, don’t be caught out after it,” Diana says like a reheased line, like she’s told the same thing to a hundred different people today. “Commit an infraction, break a law, justice will be enforced.” She taps the side of her neck like an indication. Clarke swallows. “You get one chance. The first time you hurt anyone, you’re imprinted.”

Hurt someone? Is this woman for real? How does Clarke come off to her? She’s a girl from a private school, a secure background, she barely weighs anything. How could she possibly hurt someone?

It’s then that it strikes Clarke. It doesn’t matter where she comes from, what she looks like. All Diana Sydney sees is the HTS gene.

_That’s all anyone will see from now on._

“I’m sure you’ve seen it.” Diana quirks her brow. “The letter ‘D’ for delinquent. If what you do is bad enough for an arrest, you get imprinted and then you go to jail.”

“That won’t happen,” Clarke blurts out defensively.

“You all say that.” Diana snaps her eyes down to the folder again.

Clarke narrows her eyes, looking to her mother once more, hoping she’ll defend her. She doesn’t. Her mom is still staring straight ahead, obviously wishing this time away. Clarke’s lungs swell up, overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all.

“That’ll be all. We’ll check in every month and other than that, you won’t see me unless there’s a problem. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” Diana says condescendingly.

Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes, getting up from her chair far too quickly. She’s in such a rush to get away from that awful woman that she crashes right into somebody behind her.

He towers over her, tall and broad with an unshakable stance. He barely moves when Clarke bounces back from him. His muscles protrude through his blue t-shirt and he has messy black curls, long enough to just about obscure his dark eyes. _Those eyes._ They glare at Clarke, with a mixture of what seems to be irritation and curiosity swirling inside of them.

That’s not what holds Clarke’s attention for long though. Her eyes flick down to his neck where a sharp letter ‘D’ is stamped, circled by a black ring. This guy isn’t just a carrier, he’s an _imprinted_ one.

As pissed off as Clarke is feeling, as done in with this whole fucking thing as she is, her reaction is always her primary one when it comes to everything that’s HTS related — fear. Clarke is sure she has gone pale. She quickly averts her gaze, because yes, she definitely was staring at the tattoo, and moves back to his eyes.

The curiosity and irritation are gone, replaced by what looks like amusement. He looks her up and down briefly, taking her in. The most annoying smirk is growing on his face.

“Hey, Princess,” he rumbles, his deep voice making the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight.

It’s smart and laced with smugness, like he’s laughing internally at someone like her in a place like this. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why she’s in Diana Sydney’s office but she probably looks so out of place that it’s laughable. Clarke doesn’t look tough or even prepared for this and this asshole doesn’t need to point it out, _she knows_.

She cocks her chin up at him, annoyed by the nickname. She might not belong here but fuck him, she _is_ here. It sucks, so the less salt in the wound, the better.

“Mr. Blake. Nice of you to finally show up,” Diana remarks but this Blake doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke, that stupid smirk still in place.

“Clarke, let’s go.” Her mother finally says something, taking Clarke's arm and pulling her past the delinquent in front of them.

After taking a few steps down the corridor, Clarke glances back at him over her shoulder. Blake has plopped himself in the chair in front of Diana, shaking his hair back from his eyes.

“Bellamy, want to explain to me why you’re an hour late for this meeting?” Diana looks at him from under her brows.

Clarke turns away, continuing to follow her mother out the door and into the parking lot.

“ _Bellamy Blake_ ,” she whispers, testing his name on her tongue.

She thinks about him long after they’re settled in the car. He looks the part of someone with the HTS gene. Clarke hates herself for judging by appearance, especially considering what she is now, but he _does_ look the part. He’s all hard edges and tough lines, like he’s afraid of nobody. He doesn’t try to hide his imprint tattoo either, like he doesn’t care who sees it, like he doesn’t have a care in the world about his ‘corrupt’ DNA.

Clarke knows one thing for sure as they drive away from that wretched place, she will never do anything bad enough to deserve a mark like Bellamy’s.

* * *

Clarke spends the rest of the day with knots in her stomach.

She’s dreading tomorrow, the uncertainty of diving into the unknown territory of a new school. Will the other kids in the school know that she’s a carrier? Will they even see her or will she be sent to a confined room by herself, left to rot in isolation until she graduates? Will other carriers be in the school too?

If she’s being sent there, they are obviously an educational establishment that accepts her ‘kind’. She’ll bet that if there are other carriers there, many of them will have earned their spot as one. Up until her own test results, Clarke thought all carriers were dark and evil people with an obvious quality about them that made them dangerous. Now, she assumes that some are like her — that have never done anything wrong or violent in their whole life.

Clarke wonders what Bellamy Blake has done, if he’s as dangerous as he looks. She shakes the thought of him and those dark, alluring eyes studying her in Diana’s cubicle. Why is she thinking of him when she has more pressing matters to be concerning herself with?

She would give anything to be going back to Arkadia tomorrow. Back to her old life. Back to Finn.

On that thought, she picks up her phone and dials his number. He had given up calling her after eleven last night but both he and Josephine texted her a few times this morning when she didn’t show up for school. Finn answers on the third ring, meaning he must have skipped football training.

“Clarke?”

“Hi,” she mumbles, suddenly holding back tears.

“Where are you? Why didn’t you answer my calls? Why didn’t you show up today?” Finn fires questions at her, desperation in his tone.

God, how is she going to tell him? How does she even begin? A million different excuses fly through her mind but what’s the point? He’ll know the truth eventually. _She’s never coming back to school_. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

“Um, do you remember when they tested us for HTS at the start of the school year?”

Finn is silent for a few seconds but it feels like an eternity to Clarke. “Uh, yeah, I think so,” he says like he’s caught off guard, like he has no idea why it relates to this conversation. “Why?”

“The results came back. I tested positive,” she says quickly, like it won’t sound so bad that way.

Finn laughs down the phone. “Yeah, right.”

“Finn,” Clarke breathes out, her voice shaking along with it. Her eyes are squeezed shut, like it will somehow stop the reaction she knows is coming. “I’m serious.”

This time, the silence definitely stretches on an eternity. She’s not imagining it. It goes on so long that Clarke has to call his name again to prompt him to talk.

“You have the kill gene?” he croaks, weak.

Clarke winces. She hates that. HTS sounds clinical and less dangerous. Yet, she supposes there’s no point in dressing it up. She’s a carrier of the kill gene. 

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’ve been uninvited from Arkadia. I’m starting at Polis tomorrow.” Another bout of silence echoes back to her. Tears prick at her eyes and her throat tightens. “Finn, _please._ I’m still the same girl.”

Clarke waits for him to respond, waits to hear anything but his heavy breathing down the other end of the phone. She waits and waits until she hears the tone that confirms Finn has hung up. Clarke’s eyes fall shut. The air feels thin around her and a cascade of emotion rises within her. She doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.

She ends up hurling her phone across her bedroom. Hot tears spill down her cheek as silent sobs tumble out of her body. Right now, it’s hard to imagine she’ll ever feel anything close to happiness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bri (@underbellamy) made the most amazing [fanart](https://underbellamy.tumblr.com/post/627358217549299712/bellarke-fanfiction-dedication-i-found-peace-in) for me and this fic, which I am so in love with. For those of you who are interested in seeing what the imprints look like, check it out!
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	3. You Were Never One for Folding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't get over the support for this fic and it's really motivated me. For those of you who have messaged me, sent me asks on tumblr, recommended it to friends and discussed it on twitter/discord, I am forever grateful.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ The Corner - Dermot Kennedy

* * *

_Thursday, April 20, 2023_ . _More than 37,000 registered carriers._

**Conversation between Charles Pike, frontman and discoverer of the HTS gene, and the United States chief of staff:**

**Titus:** At this time, the president is not prepared to take such measures.

 **Charles:** So instead, you’re going to quarantine another city? I hear Chicago is already lost.

 **Titus:** We are monitoring the situation closely.

 **Charles:** I’m assuming you’ve seen the figures then? Since the introduction of mandatory testing last September, the number of positive carriers has nearly doubled. And that number is only that small because our methods of testing and locating results were slow. We are going to see a greater rise in numbers now that we have become more efficient.

 **Titus:** Many of those are youths, we can’t exactly —

 **Charles:** Listen to me, no matter the age, these people are born to be dangerous. The power to test and identify carriers only takes us so far. Knowing who the monsters are doesn’t stop them. Further action needs to be taken.

 **Titus:** What you’re suggesting is impossible.

 **Charles:** It’s not a suggestion. I’m _telling_ you. If you want to keep the country from going under, then give the carriers to me. Grant me more authority.

 **Titus:** ...I’ll talk to the president…

* * *

Clarke's mother drops her to Polis high school just before eight. She’s dressed and ready for work, but Clarke doesn’t miss the black bags underneath her eyes. She clearly hasn’t been sleeping.

As they walk through the school gates, Clarke can’t help but compare this place to Arkadia. Instead of pink cherry blossom trees in front of an ornate, white building, Clarke now stands before a cold looking structure that looks daunting, even from the outside. The brick is grey, like the colour of concrete, like the place has never seen a lick of paint. The shrubbery is barely kept on the outside, looking wiry and close to death. To be honest, Clarke is surprised the small section of grass near the door is even mowed.

The inside isn’t much better. It’s dark because the lobby seems to only have one small window and the grey linoleum on the floor make the place feel even colder. It’s just a school, but the look of the place has done an excellent job of extinguishing any hope Clarke had left.

Her mother signs her name to a few papers, not bothering to really read anything. It’s like she can’t get out fast enough. The principal of Polis, Alie Franco, stands to the left. Her posture is as straight as a yardstick and her stoic expression is intimidating to say the least. She’s wearing a red dress that looks out of place in such a stark, expressionless building.

“Here’s your wristband, wear it at all times.” Alie hands Clarke a steel, metal bracelet with her details carved into it. It has her name, her date of birth and the word “carrier” engraved on the front.

Apparently, those things sum up who she is now. There is nothing else about her that matters.

“It identifies your carrier status,” Alie clarifies when she sees Clarke studying it. “Only HTS students wear the wristband.”

“Good to know,” Clarke mutters, swallowing hard to stop any tears from springing to her eyes.

She doesn’t know why she’s this upset about it all. She knows the deal by now. Maybe it’s Finn’s reaction from yesterday still tugging at her emotional side. Clarke thought he would call back once he had a little time but there was radio silence all night. Josephine even stopped texting, meaning Finn probably passed the message along. Half of Arkadia probably knows by now.

Clarke blows out a breath. She needs to pull it together, needs herself together for today. She can cry later, mourn the loss of her old life once more.

“Okay.” Her mother faces her, clearly finished with the paperwork. “Ready?”

Clarke can only stare at her, suddenly feeling numb inside. Does she have a choice?

“I’ll pick you up later,” her mom promises when Clarke doesn’t answer.

Clarke wants to beg her not to leave her here but it won’t do any good. She has to stay. Clarke simply waves goodbye, giving her mother an easy out which she grabs with both hands. In seconds, her mother is gone — probably desperate to get out of this depressing building. Clarke can’t really blame her.

Alie instructs Clarke to follow her, a clinical edge to her tone. Unlike other people, there’s no fear or judgement in Alie’s voice. It’s no wonder Polis accepts carrier students, Alie is like a robot. She clearly doesn’t care who’s in her school because she probably has the skills and personality to deal with them. In many ways, she reminds Clarke of Diana Sydney, just less disgust and more formal.

Clarke is led through a deserted Polis as she clasps the metal wristband around her wrist, just above her father’s watch. They pass all the empty classrooms and up many, many sets of stairs. Her thighs are burning by the time they reach the top floor. There’s a yellow rope at the top of the stairs with a sign attached that reads “ _restricted access_ ”. That’s one way of ensuring HTS carriers avoid the general population.

Alie lifts the rope and leads Clarke the rest of the way, down a dark corridor to the very last (and only) door on the level. Clarke doesn’t dare speak, she just follows aimlessly like a good little carrier student. Alie knocks twice before pushing the door in, revealing a medium sized room with a skylight in the ceiling. Considering there’s no other windows in here, the lights are switched on to challenge the darkness of the room. That’s not what makes Clarke’s heart fall into her stomach though.

The classroom consists of a supervisor desk facing a wall of chain link, stretching from floor to ceiling. On the other side of the chain link, there are about seven desks. Only five students occupy those, all staring at Clarke with various expressions. She folds her arms across herself in order to feel less exposed, not that it does much good.

“Welcome to the Skybox.” A man that Clarke hadn’t noticed before greets her, standing up from the single desk on the outside of the chain link. “I’m Cage Wallace.”

He’s middle-aged with sharp eyes that rake over Clarke like she’s a piece of meat. It makes her even more uncomfortable so she squeezes her arms tighter across herself. Cage is so pale, Clarke wonders if he’s ever seen the outside world. He licks his lips as he scans her, making her stomach grow nauseous. She glances back into the prison-like area in front of her and suddenly, Clarke isn’t sure which side of the fence she’d rather be on.

“I trust there’ll be no problems, Clarke?” Alie turns to face her. It sounds more like a warning than anything else.

“No, there’ll be no problems,” Clarke assures her quietly.

Alie gives her a tight lipped smile before nodding at Cage and leaving the Skybox. _Great,_ now she’s alone with this man and a bunch of HTS students.

“So, Clarke, is it?” Cage outstretches his hand.

Clarke eyes him warily before extending her own. Over the last couple of days, Clarke has grown accustomed to people being unsure of her, even disgusted by her — but never intrigued. This guy rubs her up the wrong way.

“Yeah, Clarke Griffin.”

“Well, as I said, this is the Skybox.”

The Skybox. Aptly named. It’s like those books she used to read about Princesses held against their will, in the highest room of the tallest tower. Clarke could laugh at the irony.

“I’m in charge, in case that’s not obvious.” Cage smirks. Clarke restrains herself from rolling her eyes at this dickhead on a power trip. “It’ll take them a while to round up your assignments so you’ll just have to amuse yourself for the day.”

Cage turns to the gate-like door on the chain link wall, confirming to Clarke that this is the only way in or out. It half squeaks, half rattles as he pulls it open. She pauses before she steps inside.

“So, you don’t actually teach us anything?” she asks for clarification.

“No. Call me a glorified babysitter.” He smiles irritatingly. “I just turn your work into your teachers on the outside.”

 _On the outside_. Teachers Clarke will never meet. At this point, Clarke thinks she might actually laugh. Her whole life has turned into a joke. Just before she takes a step inside, Cage grabs her arm and she freezes, her breath rattling in her chest.

“If you need any tips about surviving this place, I’m here to help.” He gives her arm a little squeeze and Clarke is sure her stomach has turned itself inside out.

She snaps her arms away and practically jumps inside the chain link prison, preferring to be in here with a bunch of unpredictable, possibly violent carriers than that man out there that has somehow, tested negative for HTS. If he had tested positive, he wouldn’t be here. Clarke wonders if there’s any credit to this theory after all.

The door clinks closed behind her while she scans the Skybox. Clarke observes that each student in here wears the same metal bracelet as her, announcing to the world that all of them are carriers.

Clarke takes note of two boys sitting at the back, their eyes stuck to her. As first impressions go, she doesn’t get the best vibe from them.

A boy and a girl sit in the next row ahead of them. The boy is watching Clarke, mischief and smugness written all over his face while the girl looks like she’s too focused on dissembling her calculator to do much else. Her long, dark hair is scooped back into a ponytail and her body language screams out a confidence that Clarke would pay money to have.

The last student is a boy who looks more innocent than anyone Clarke has ever seen. He doesn’t make eye contact with Clarke either, busy reading a book in front of him.

She slots herself into a desk in front of him, figuring that he looks the least threatening out of them all to be near. One desk lies empty beside her and she wonders if there’s a student missing or if this is all she has to contend with. She hopes it’s the latter.

Her heartbeat is still uneven and her stomach is still nauseous. Clarke has never felt so defeated as she does right now and that’s saying a lot considering everything that has happened in the last few days. No teachers, no contact with _normal_ students, not even a goddamn textbook to learn from.

She glances up at the clock above Cage’s head on the outside of the chain link wall, purposely avoiding his glare because he’s still fucking looking at her. It’s just gone half eight.

 _Fuck_. This is going to be a long day.

* * *

Clarke has barely been in the Skybox thirty minutes when the two boys down the back approach her. She hears their chairs skid backwards on the floor and then their footsteps sauntering up towards her at the front. She bites down on her lip but doesn’t dare turn around.

“Hey.” One of the boys smiles when he's next to her. Clarke can read the insincerity off it a mile away.

“Hi,” she mumbles, refocusing on the clock above Cage’s head, willing it to tick faster.

The two of them take up residence in the empty desk beside her, one on the table top and one into the chair that accompanies it. The one on the desk is tall, blocky and has that greasy smile still plastered on his expression. The one in the chair doesn’t smile at all. He just stares at Clarke, evaluating her from all angles. He has his hood pulled up, despite being inside.

Glancing at Cage, Clarke realises he clearly couldn’t give a shit about what goes on in here. He hasn’t even looked up from his magazine, despite two students wandering around the Skybox.

“Where are you from?” the tall one asks.

“Does it matter?” Clarke returns.

She doesn’t exactly feel comfortable telling them where she lives. They’re already here to judge her, to pick her apart. She doesn’t need them knowing that she lives in a rich neighbourhood.

“Guess not,” the boy replies but he’s looking at his friend, like they’re sharing some inside joke that Clarke isn’t a part of. His friend hasn’t spoken at all and it unnerves her. “We were just wondering if you needed some company, being the new kid and all.”

Clarke flicks her eyes to him. “I’m good.”

“Everybody needs a friend.” He shrugs. “Isn’t that right, Dax?”

The silent boy finally speaks but no trace of emotion crosses his face. No smile, not even an insincere one. “That’s right, Mbege.”

Clarke knows nothing about intimidation tactics but she guesses that she’s right in the middle of something here. She’s never had to be in a situation like this. The people she went to Arkadia with were accepting, maybe because she was like them. _Not anymore._

She’s in a very different sandbox now, so she straightens her back and makes sure her eyes are sharp when she replies this time. “I said _I’m good_.”

Without even blinking, Dax is up off his seat. He slaps his hand onto Clarke’s desk and the bang echoes across the Skybox. Clarke jumps.

“Maybe you’re not hearing what he’s saying,” Dax growls, towering over Clarke. Her heart has started to gallop in her chest. _Guess he doesn’t take rejection very well_. “You need to be very careful who you choose as your allies. You need them in here and it could make a very big difference to your experience.”

“Come on, Dax, look at her.”

A voice comes from down the back. When Clarke looks over her shoulder, she sees it’s from the smug-headed boy from earlier, sitting next to the girl who’s dismantling the calculator. “She looks like a smart girl. She knows not to befriend apes.”

“Watch it, Murphy,” Dax snarls.

“Or what?” Murphy laughs.

Dax takes a step towards this Murphy guy and without putting too much thought into the action, Clarke pokes her foot out which causes him to stumble. It was clearly a wrong move.

Mbege flips her desk onto its head, creating a crashing sound against the ground. Simultaneously, Dax spins and catches Clarke by her sweater, heaving her up easily. Clarke’s mouth goes dry when he shoves her backwards, his hand still attached to her sweater. Her back meets the wall and then Dax is crowding her, close enough that she can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath.

Her gut wraps around itself and her stomach grows nauseous.

“You think that was funny?” he hisses.

Clarke looks over to Cage who is standing now, watching the altercation but doing nothing. _Is this for fucking real?_

“He won’t help you, it’s above his pay grade.” Dax answers her silent question for her. “As I said, you need to be very careful who you choose as your allies.”

“Dax, let her go.” The innocent looking boy is standing now.

“Stay out of this, Monty,” Mbege warns.

“ _Hey_!” The girl perks up, irritation in her tone. “Watch it.”

“Fuck off, Raven,” Mbege bites back.

Clarke isn’t sure whether Raven is standing up for her or Monty. The back and forth arguments are becoming overwhelming now, making the Skybox feel much smaller than it is. It’s only then that Clarke realises that Mbege is holding Murphy back, stopping him from intervening — stopping him from helping her.

Her heart is thumping and her face feels red hot with panic. Nobody has ever handled her like this. Dax’s fingers are curled tightly into her sweater, putting pressure on her skin with the force. His nose is so close to her face that it’s practically touching her.

She half considers lifting her knee and _forcing_ him to back away from her, but she’s in this school until graduation — she’s not sure what kind of trouble she’d bring on herself by making things worse. Still, she has no control over how her hands ball into fists.

“Dax, return to your seat.” Cage finally opens his goddamn mouth, not that it makes any difference. It’s like he hasn’t even spoken.

“You think you can disrespect me like that?” Dax spits at Clarke. “Think you’re above me? I don’t have to answer to anybody.”

“ _Come again_?”

The Skybox falls quiet as the voice appears, like thunder rumbling across the room.

Clarke turns her head, surprised to see Bellamy Blake standing beside Cage’s desk. She furrows her brow, assessing him in this environment. _He goes here?_

_What?_

For some reason, relief washes over her. Her fists loosen and her lungs can take a proper breath again. She has no idea why but she feels saved.

Bellamy pulls open the Skybox gate, letting himself in. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder and his energy screams out authority. Even Cage has sat back down. He appears loose and confident in his movements as he strides casually over to Dax, those dark eyes piercing him. Dax has loosened his grip on Clarke but still hasn’t released her. She doesn’t miss how his face has gone slack though, something akin to fear lodged behind those venomous eyes.

Bellamy stops in front of them, his eyes never leaving Dax at all. His mouth turns up into that annoying smirk that Clarke saw him do at Diana’s office. “I’d let her go if I were you.”

Dax clearly doesn’t have to be told twice. Clarke grunts as the pressure drops from her chest and Dax takes a couple of steps backwards, towards Mbege who is also retreating. Murphy flicks out his jacket, fixing it after being manhandled.

“ _Sit down_ ,” Bellamy orders, his eyes still on Dax. “Don’t piss me off before the day has even started.”

Clarke stands frozen against the wall, half terrified and half in shock. What the hell just happened?

Bellamy doesn’t look at Clarke at all, he simply picks up her discarded desk with one hand and stands it upright. He then slides into the desk beside hers, his frame looking almost too big for it.

Clarke’s heart rate still hasn’t settled. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes nervously flitting around the Skybox. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Dax and Mbege have retreated to the back of the room like two scolded dogs, mumbling a conversation to one another like they’re afraid to even talk too loud now. Murphy has taken his seat back beside Raven, neither of them looking at Clarke anymore. Monty is still staring though — almost like he’s checking to see if she’s okay. She manages a nod at him and his shoulders relax, like he’s glad she’s alright.

Clarke can’t think straight at the moment though, can’t process what just happened. It hardly feels real. She slumps back into her seat quickly, taking a spiral notebook out of her bag along with a pencil. Maybe if she draws something, it will calm her down.

She glances at Bellamy beside her, who is turning the pages of a withered book like he’s trying to find out where he left off. The muscles in his arms move as the pages turn and Clarke’s eye is once again drawn to the ‘D’ imprint on his neck.

She swallows thickly.

How dangerous do you have to be in order to be a king over a bunch of rebels?

* * *

The day passes in a complete blur.

Clarke thinks she dozes off for a portion of the morning and the rest of the day for her is made up of reading a book she found buried at the bottom of her bag, wishing the time away. She doodled on the corner of a piece of paper for a while, nothing like she used to draw. It’s like she’s forgotten how, numb against any form of inspiration.

They eat their pre-packed lunch at their desks because they aren’t allowed to mix with the regular kids. The only way to get out of the Skybox is to use the bathroom and for that, Cage has to give out a hall pass. Clarke purposefully doesn’t drink much, desperate to not have to ask that man for anything.

With five minutes to go until home time, Clarke honestly thinks the hands on the clock are torturing her with how slow they’re moving. Finally, when Cage announces they can go, Clarke bolts like she’s running on rocket fuel. She jams her stuff into her backpack and is on her feet in two seconds flat. She doesn’t want to stay here any longer than she has to. She moves out of the Skybox gate and down the stairs like someone just announced that the school was on fire. Apparently, not fast enough though.

“Hey, Speedy Gonzales, hold up!” Murphy catches up with her in the stairwell, his backpack casually thrown over his shoulder. “What’s your rush?”

“Is that really a question?” Clarke half laughs, still making her way down but Murphy stays on her heel. She’s not sure why she’s even entertaining this conversation but she supposes Murphy isn’t the worst in there. He did try to help her with Dax.

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“It’s not that bad?” Clarke whips around to face him. He’s standing above her on the next step, a shit-eating grin on his face like he’s purposefully trying to annoy her. “I sat doing nothing all day, not learning anything, not speaking to anyone,” she rants, listing off on her fingers. “Oh, and that’s after I was threatened and manhandled by that asshole sitting at the back of the room. You’d have to be a cockroach to survive in this place.”

Murphy laughs, his body vibrating from the movement. In that moment, the others walk past them on their way home. Raven, Monty and the two assholes who harassed her this morning. Clarke waits until they are a safe distance away before redirecting her attention back to Murphy who is still sniggering.

“You think it’s funny?” she hisses, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they aren’t lingering around. “Is this just an average day in here?”

“You could say that.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, about to walk away from him again but pauses. She owes this guy more than a snappy conversation. “Thank you, for trying to help this morning.”

Murphy raises his eyebrows but his expression doesn’t change other than that. He’s still smiling smugly at her, his lazy posture leaning against the bannister railing like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

He shrugs. “You helped me too. Dax was coming to pound me until you stuck your foot out.”

Clarke, despite herself, smirks at the memory. “It was nothing.”

Murphy passes her and bounces down the stairs. “Us cockroaches have to stick together!” he calls back to her. “Allies and all that.”

She snorts, shaking her head. _Allies._ Maybe Dax was onto something. She might need them in here and Murphy doesn’t seem the worst. Clarke never thought that she’d be standing that close to a carrier and being somewhat at ease. She’s one of them now, if science is anything to go by. She’s a little ashamed of her past prejudice. Her privilege and the media gave her a spoilt view of the world, her on one side, carriers on the other. Now she knows there is no difference. Apparently, they’re all monsters here.

Albeit some a little scarier than others.

“John Murphy as an ally.” The rough baritone voice comes from behind her. Clarke spins to see Bellamy sauntering down the steps above her. “Suppose you could have chosen someone worse.”

She rakes her eyes over him as he approaches her and Clarke is struck by how attractive he is. In Diana’s office, she was so focused on everything else that she hardly noticed it, but Bellamy is hot. It’s not really a deniable fact.

“Like Dax or Mbege?” she asks, folding her arms to distract herself from that realisation. She doesn’t know what to make of him so she figures it’s best to err on the side of caution. The others seem to fear him, or respect him. She’s not sure which. “Don’t worry, I can spot the assholes a mile off.”

Bellamy laughs lowly, walking past her with his hands in his pockets. “If you say so, Princess.”

Heat rises to her cheeks. He and Murphy are similar — cocky, arrogant, and sporting a major attitude. It’s like they’re untouchable. But Murphy doesn’t get under Clarke’s skin like this. She’s barely spent a minute in Bellamy’s company and he’s already irritating her. Maybe she should be careful here, he is a carrier after all. An imprinted one. 

“My name isn’t _Princess_.”

He turns around, huffing out an amused breath. “You’ve got a real gratitude problem, you know that? Murphy gets a ‘thank you’ and I get corrected?”

“I could have handled myself without your help,” Clarke retorts.

“Yeah, sure looked that way.” He shakes his head, walking away from her. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you fend for yourself in the future.”

Clarke grips the bannister harder, her mouth in a tight line as she watches him stalk off down the stairs. Attractive or not, Bellamy Blake is a piece of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	4. This Is Not What I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ 9 Crimes - Damien Rice

* * *

_Friday, April 21, 2023_ . _More than 38,000 registered carriers._

**Email sent to Eligius Corporation, a human rights organization that rejects Homicidal Tendency Syndrome and opposes Charles Pike’s methods of control and discipline of “carriers”:**

To whom it may concern,

My sister has recently tested positive for the supposed HTS gene.

If you knew my sister, you’d know that she doesn’t have a violent bone in her body. It’s tearing our family apart, tearing _her_ apart. And I can’t stand by and do nothing. If somebody could reach out to me and tell me how I could stand up against this, I’d really appreciate it. I’d do anything to help. I’m ready for whatever it takes to tear down Pike and his reign of terror.

Yours sincerely,

Wells Jaha.

* * *

Clarke has the biggest pit in her stomach as she walks into the Skybox the next day.

It’s Friday. She has to keep reminding herself of that. After this is over, she has two entire days where she doesn’t have to attend Polis and that’s something to look forward to. She’s better prepared today. Her bag contains a couple of books, a sketchpad, her spiral notebook and a few different shader pencils. She’s determined not to be bored.

Cage is at his desk when she walks in and he greets her with a slimy smile. She averts her gaze and opens the gate, praying to every deity out there that he won’t speak to her today. Monty gives her a short wave when she comes into the Skybox and she mirrors the movement, grateful for some form of kindness in this place. Mbege is sitting down the back but Dax’s seat is vacant next to him. Maybe he’s not coming in today. _Thank God_. Mbege doesn’t lift his head at all, like he’s almost afraid to meet Clarke’s eye. All because of Bellamy.

She found herself sketching him last night, trying not to question the sudden inspiration too much. His eyes took up the most time, mainly because Clarke wanted to get them exactly right. It was easy to remember the fire in them when he stood up for her with Dax. After a good two hours of drawing him, a wave of guilt hit her because she should have been thinking of Finn. She still doesn’t know where she stands with him and so, it resulted in her snapping her sketchpad closed and calling him a number of times to no avail. She tried not to be too upset, convincing herself that he just needs more time.

Clarke slips into her desk, desperate to start the day so it can eventually be over. She takes out her sketchbook, skipping the page with Bellamy on it because she should focus on something else. By the time Raven and Murphy come in five minutes later, she’s scrapped two full sheets already. Nothing is inspiring her. Clarke huffs out a breath, irritated that even though she's brought so much with her today, she doesn't know what to do.

Raven ignores her on the way to her desk but Murphy gives her a comedic salute. Clarke smirks. She’s glad to have somewhat of a friend in here. If this "diagnosis" has taught her anything, it's that all carriers aren’t what Pike says they are. There’s good and bad people in the world and Clarke is starting to discover that this is down to choice rather than genetics.

She’s given up on her efforts to sketch altogether when Bellamy saunters through the door. Being fashionably late seems to be his thing. Cage doesn’t acknowledge him as he lets himself into the Skybox.

On his way over to his seat beside Clarke, he slides a book onto her desk. _Wanheda_. Clarke reads the title, flipping the book over so she can read the back. It’s about a warrior princess who defies the odds and fights for what she knows is right, for her people and the love of her life. An interesting read.

Clarke looks over at Bellamy who barely fits into his desk, a brooding expression on his face as he takes out his own book: _The Iliad._ He clearly noticed how bored she was yesterday. It's a nice gesture. She tries to offer him a smile in gratitude but he doesn’t look her way, purposefully it seems. This irks her. Why bother doing something kind if he isn’t going to speak to her? Maybe he just felt sorry for her and that irks her even more.

At ten, an office aid comes into the Skybox and hands a file to Cage. Clarke’s interest is piqued.

“Okay, assignments," he calls out.

Several groans erupt from everyone but Clarke. She _wants_ an assignment. Anything to pass the day quicker. She sits up straight, eyes bright and ready.

“This is for your Community Awareness,” Cage states, entering the Skybox and passing out a piece of paper to everyone. “You have a week to get it done.”

Community Awareness. Clarke has never done this in her old school. It's obviously a subject unique to carriers. She scans the page once it lands on her desk but her eyes stop dead on the sentence that states she has to pair up with someone in her class. Her enthusiasm wilts and her gut tenses. _Fuck_. She’d rather do this on her own.

Maybe she could pair up with Murphy or Monty: they seem okay. A quick glance confirms that this isn’t an option. Mbege has already gotten up and dragged his chair over beside Monty, a last resort considering his partner in crime is missing today. Raven and Murphy have pulled their desks together, too. Clarke swallows. She doesn’t have a choice. All that’s left is Bellamy Blake.

Her stomach knots as Cage clangs the chain link door closed, returning to his desk. Clarke waits for Bellamy to get up and come over as the others start to talk in low voices, obviously beginning to discuss the assignment. He doesn’t though. Clarke toys with the corner of the page for a few minutes until she sighs. She’s going to have to make the step.

 _Fine_.

She pulls her chair over to his desk as he watches her, a smirk on his expression that she’d give anything to wipe off. How does he act so cavalier and indifferent about everything? 

She settles herself, avoiding his eye. “Guess I’m with you on this.”

“Guess so.” His deep voice washes over Clarke and she purses her lips, an effort to remain intact.

“Thanks for the book,” she says, expecting a vocal response and is disappointed when he gives her a physical one. A shrug. Nothing to go off.

She clears her throat and reads the worksheet. “We have to interview each other.”

“Yeah, that’s what it says, Princess.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. He’s still smirking, clearly enjoying her discomfort. Does he enjoy playing hot and cold with her as well?

“It’s obvious what they’re doing,” she says. “They’re trying to train us in humanity, because we obviously lack empathy.”

“Good observation.”

The sentence is doused in sarcasm. She refrains from snapping a smart comment back. Her gaze strays to the tattoo on his neck once more, observing the thick outline of the circle surrounding the ‘D’.

“It’s for ‘delinquent’, you get one if you do something they consider out of line before you’re 25,” he tells her, clearly after catching her in the act.

 _Something they consider out of line_. She doesn’t miss that.

“I know,” she mumbles, shifting in her chair as she plays with her pencil. Fuck, she didn’t think she was being so obvious.

“Wasn’t enough to go to jail for,” he states. “Just in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she fires back, although she can’t say she’s not curious to know what he did to earn it in the first place. “Let’s just start.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” Clarke repeats him. “Name?”

“Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke goes through the basic list of questions — birthplace, birth date, school, hair and eye colour. She asks him about his parents next.

“My mother is Aurora Blake. Don’t know my father.”

Clarke hesitates with her pencil for a moment before scrawling that information down. “Siblings?”

“A sister. Octavia.”

He doesn’t volunteer a lot of information, just the bare basics. Still, Clarke needs it for the worksheet, even if it’s just empty facts. She wants to know more, though. Is his sister a carrier too? Does he get along with her? Care about her? Or does he just keep to himself like he does in here?

Clarke figures that it’s safer to just stick to the worksheet questions.

“Hobbies?”

Bellamy doesn’t strike her as the type that plays the violin or a team sport. When she looks up at him, those dark eyes are staring at her like he’s looking into her soul, examining every inch of her face like he’s dying to know her.

“No hobbies,” he answers huskily.

“Something you do in your free time, something you enjoy?” Clarke clarifies.

“I know the definition of a hobby,” he mutters.

Clarke raises her eyebrows, scoffing in derision. “ _Okay_. No hobbies.”

He tilts his head, amused. Maybe it’s her attitude that gets him. Maybe she should be displaying more fear, something he’s probably used to considering he has that thing on his neck. In old circumstances, that would have been Clarke’s reaction. Now, she’s just pissed off. Fed up with the fact that her life has been turned upside down because of a test result. She’s lost Finn, lost her future. What’s Bellamy Blake going to do to make her life that much worse? It’s reckless of her, but today she doesn’t give a fuck.

“I have a job,” he supplies. Clarke shifts her eyes to him, watching how those dark curls of his flop over his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I would call washing dishes at the Dead Zone Diner six nights a week a hobby, though.”

“Then why do it?”

Bellamy’s features calcify and Clarke immediately regrets her question. She definitely should have stuck to the worksheet.

“God, you’re so fucking sheltered, aren’t you? It’s how I make a living.”

Clarke bites down on her lip. She didn’t mean to offend him.

“My mom can barely afford to feed us after bills are paid. If I want socks, gas money for my piece-of-shit rover that’s always breaking down, extra money for Octavia, I have to earn it.” His gaze scours over her. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Princess?”

Clarke drops her gaze. Shame washes over her, just like he clearly wanted. As usual, where she should recoil, she doesn’t. Anger replaces the shame and she snaps her eyes back up. Her chest burns with the heat.

“You don’t know a thing about me,” she counters.

She might not have to earn money but she had to earn her place at Sanctum. She had to earn people’s respect and attention for her artistic talent. She lost her dad, lost _everything_ because of her DNA. She knows hardship. Apparently, all Bellamy sees when he looks at her is a spoilt little rich kid.

“I know enough.”

“You know nothing,” Clarke snaps. “I’m here, the same as you. Don’t judge me.”

Bellamy chuckles, the sound vibrating in Clarke’s chest. “Don’t _judge_ you?” He shakes his head. “You better get used to the world judging you, Princess. You’re a carrier now. Accept that because that’s all there is.”

Clarke snatches the worksheet off his desk and returns back to her own, deciding that she’s had enough of this assignment for one day.

She huffs out a breath as she collapses on her chair and starts reading back over the few answers Bellamy gave her. After a few minutes, Clarke calms down as she absorbs the factual information on the worksheet. She realises that as irritating as Bellamy is, she doesn’t exactly dislike him. She doesn’t know what to make of him in terms of his arrogance and smugness, but part of her admires him.

He walks around almost proudly, like he doesn’t care what the world thinks of him. Even imprinted, there’s nothing cowed or beaten about him. He’s confident in himself and Clarke would trade her left arm to be that way. She’s still clinging onto her old life, hoping that this is all some big mistake and she’ll be back in Arkadia by Monday. That’s not going to get her through this. He’s right, she has to accept who they think she is and be okay with it.

It’s easier said than done. But she needs to try.

She looks over at Bellamy. He’s seemingly unbothered by her previous disdain, his eyes darting over his old withered copy of _The Iliad_. As much as it irks her to admit it, she needs to be more like him. That’s when it hits her: maybe she’s so easily wound up by him because she can tell that he doesn’t like _her._ The scathing way he calls her “princess” rings in her ears. He definitely doesn’t think much of her and that, for some reason, bothers her.

* * *

Clarke doesn’t waste any time in rushing out the door of Polis once the bell rings.

She can’t wait to go home. Even though no one made trouble today, she has no desire to stay in that stuffy room with Cage’s eyes boring into her. And Bellamy... Bellamy brings his own set of confusion. They didn’t speak again after their attempt at the assignment.

She did chat with Monty for a little though and he told her about his part time job. He’s kind and genuine, and Clarke likes him. Still, their conversation left her more defeated than she could have imagined.

“Working for your mom, that must come with its perks,” she said, smiling at him as they ate their yoghurts.

Monty shrugged, digging his spoon into the container. “I guess. It was fine for some extra money but it stopped looking so shiny now that I have to do it forever.”

Clarke lifted her head, screwing up her eyes in confusion. He caught her reaction.

“Come on.” Monty smiled, a little sadness there. “You think a carrier can be trusted with much else other than stocking shelves and cleaning at a convenience store?”

“I guess I never thought about it like that,” Clarke admitted, adjusting herself at her desk.

She knew Sanctum was off the cards, her art dream extinguished before it could even begin. That was as far forward as she thought, though. She never pictured what her life would be like as a working adult, trained for nothing with a label following her around that tells people what she apparently is. No one would trust her, let alone employ her. She can only hope that Thelonious would give her a menial position in his office. Somewhere out back, away from everyone. Like she’s diseased.

“Math and science were my favourite subjects,” Monty said, a mouthful of sandwich between his jaws. “I wanted to go to MIT, maybe work for the CIA or something one day. Seems pretty pathetic now, right?”

Clarke put her yoghurt down and left the rest of her lunch untouched. Her appetite was gone.

“No,” she mumbled. “I had dreams, too.”

She glanced across at Bellamy who was chuckling at something Raven had said. In that moment, it was hard to follow his advice, to accept what she is now because that’s all there is. This whole thing was unfair and it made her want to curl up into a ball and close her eyes until she was transported to a new world, thousands of lightyears away where things like HTS didn’t exist or matter.

Life seems to be insistent on dragging Clarke down today because when she arrives home, she finds a letter in the mailbox addressed to her. She dumps her bag by the door and opens it immediately, her fingers gripping the crisp paper. Her heart sinks further and further with each line.

_"Ms. Clarke Griffin._

_We have been alerted of your recent HTS status and must, unfortunately, revoke our previous offer of acceptance to our University. We wish to extend our deepest apologies but as you know, entrance into Sanctum is extremely competitive. Every year, the most talented and most promising students are awarded positions here and it is the Office of Admissions’ responsibility to see that only the most deserving gain entry._

_Regretfully, you no longer possess the necessary qualifications to be included among those ranks. We wish you the best with your future endeavours and again, please accept our sincerest apologies._

_\- Admissions Office of Sanctum University"_

Clarke swallows thickly. She knew they were going to pull their offer. She was uninvited from her private school, why would she be allowed to attend a prestigious University like Sanctum? Clarke had prepared for this so it shouldn’t be a shock, but having it in front of her in black and white is something else entirely.

_“The most talented and most promising students are awarded positions; you no longer possess the necessary qualifications to be included among those ranks.”_

Clarke feels helpless to stop the turmoil of emotions that are cascading towards her. Frustration hits her first but it’s quickly followed by despair. She’s held it together the last few days but between that awful place she now has to call school, her conversation with Monty and now this letter, she can’t be strong anymore.

Her hand flies to her mouth to contain the sob that comes out. Tears fall loosely from her eyes and she drops to her knees in the hallway, grateful for once that her parents have such busy jobs and won’t be home until later.

She is no longer considered talented or promising, all because of her DNA. Her gift for art, her skill — they are all irrelevant now. She had a pristine school record from Arkadia and glowing recommendations from her teachers there but none of that matters anymore.

HTS: that’s all she is now.

_“You better get used to the world judging you, Princess. You’re a carrier now. Accept that because that’s all there is.”_

Bellamy’s words ring in her ears once more and another sob falls out. She crumples up the letter so hard that her fingers burn. Clarke doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to this.

Wells made her promise that she wouldn’t give up but she’s not sure she can keep that promise anymore. He’s not even home yet so she can’t go to him for a pep talk. Instead, she crawls upstairs to her bedroom and draws the curtains, shrouding the place in the same darkness she feels inside herself.

She stares at the art on the walls of her bedroom through glassy eyes. There’s a princess with blonde hair by the door, a gold crown on her head and a knight by her side. Her father had painted the knight while she focused on the princess. She was meticulous about the crown, wanting each jewel to be perfect. Her father smiled at her, dotted her nose with a splash of purple and told her how much he loved her. It’s one of her fondest memories and the main reason she never repainted her room. She outgrew her princess dream, but this bedroom — it has the essence of her dad on every section of the wall.

What would he think of her now? His daughter now too damaged for society, the killer inside her prophesied to erupt one day. She hopes he’d be like Wells, promising her that this is all a mistake and there’s no logic to it. Maybe he’d reinforce her belief that hurting people comes from choice, not a gene. Or maybe he’d look at her like everyone else, full of fear and uncertainty.

As she stares at the crown, she thinks of how Bellamy calls her “Princess”. If only he knew. She’s nothing like the princess she created on the wall. In the stories she made up with her father, she was brave and proud, a leader that put everyone else before herself. That’s clearly not Clarke at all: lying like a coward on her bed while the world goes on without her.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, pushing out the tears that swelled in there. Her pillow grows wet underneath her cheek and she tries telling herself that this is just a bad day. The ache in her chest reminds her that it’s not, this is her life now. It’s too early for sleep but she finds herself dozing, her dreams making her numb to this reality.

When she opens her eyes, it’s to the clinking of dishes and the hum of conversation downstairs, signalling that everyone is probably home and they’re making dinner. She’s not hungry though, determined to close her eyes and sleep her way through the weekend until Hell summons her again on Monday.

It seems life has other plans for her. Checking her phone, her heart jumps to see that Finn has sent her a message. Shooting up onto her elbow, she pushes her hair out of her eyes and opens the text as she holds her breath.

_“Hey, baby. I’m so sorry about how I acted the other day. There’s a party at Jo’s tonight, meet me there?”_

Clarke sits up straight on her bed, hope blooming in her chest for the first time since this whole thing started. She re-reads the text again and again, mainly to ensure she isn’t still dreaming. Finn wants her to come to a party. To spend time with him, to talk.

She grins from ear to ear, her stomach swooping with excitement.

Maybe he isn’t lost to her. Maybe things are finally looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	5. Love is Blind and Fair in War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Hold Me Down - James Gillespie
> 
> This song guys. I listened to it on REPEAT writing this whole fic. I'm in love with it.  
> One of my wonderful readers of this fic (@Shimmerysparkles) looked up the songwriter talking about it and left a comment to tell me what he said. It's so suitable for this fic: “It’s about being stuck in a position that you can’t get out of. You know it’s wrong – there is nothing you can do to get out and part of you doesn’t want to...even if it means you get burnt. I don’t even know why. It’s the fight between **head and heart**."
> 
> Thank you for your comments, all of you are so fantastic and supportive. I know I speak for all fic writers when I say that lovely comments truly make our day.

* * *

**Article 12A of the Pike Act:**

A curfew for carriers under the age of 25 will be enforced for the interest of public safety and welfare of the citizens of the United States.

Any carrier discovered outside after 10pm will receive the appropriate punishment and consequences deemed fit by law enforcement and the HTS Agency.

* * *

The party is in full swing by the time Clarke arrives at Josephine’s house.

A sting of nostalgia hits her as she climbs the porch steps, remembering all the times she and Josephine would play in this front garden. They’d stay up way too late because Josephine’s parents didn’t have much rules and they’d eat way more candy than Clarke would be allowed in a week. She even had her first drunken experience here, a small bottle of Jägermeister split between her and her best friend as they laughed like idiots for the entire night. To this date, Clarke can’t even smell it without gagging.

Those seem like long lost memories now. Josephine hasn’t reached out once, despite obviously being aware of why her best friend left school. It’s one of the reasons Clarke’s jaw is clenched as she opens the front door to let herself in. Anxiety swirls inside her stomach, sending a warning to her body that it needs to tense all its muscles.

She’s greeted by the sight of her classmates that are seemingly well on their way to drunk already. The whole place is crowded and smells like spilled beer. Clarke scans the place for Finn, desperate to see him. She hasn’t seen Josephine yet but the others from Arkadia don’t dare to converse with her. She’s been with most of them since kindergarten so to say it hurts is an understatement.

She purses her lips awkwardly as she wedges through the bodies that litter the place, trying to ignore the gawking and the sly glances that are shot her way. Even though Clarke expected outright pointing, somehow these subtle behaviours make her want to shrink inside herself even more. The awareness of her arrival is palpable, the air thick with tension. It’s impossible to hear the words clearly through the deafening mash of conversation, but it’s clear that Clarke has become the main topic.

Thankfully, the music is louder.

“Clarke!”

Finn’s voice reaches her and her shoulders relax, a smile growing on her face as he approaches her. God, she’s missed him.

He pushes through the crowd to reach her, two red plastic cups of beer in his hand. He hands her one as a greeting but doesn’t kiss her like usual — keeps his distance like he doesn’t want anyone to know they’re still a thing. Clarke smiles at him awkwardly, accepting the drink from him even though she hates beer. Finn knows it too but it never stopped him from handing her one. It’s the done thing at parties. After the day Clarke has had though, she just wants to be alone with him.

“You came,” he states, shifting on his feet.

"Yep.” Clarke nods, her senses heightened from the discomfort she’s feeling.

“I’m glad.”

The whole thing feels forced, tense. She never imagined herself and Finn in a scenario like this. She crosses her arms, holding her cup with one hand. The first sip makes her nose wrinkle but she welcomes the distraction, glancing around to the others enjoying themselves at the party. It’s then that Clarke realizes she feels more comfortable around the carriers at Polis and that unnerves her.

She glances back at Finn who is bopping his head to the song that’s playing, scanning the place with some kind of false interest. At least the people in Polis will look her in the eye. Bellamy always looks at her, even if their interactions are tense and drenched in irritation, even though they barely have any kind of relationship at all. The thought of him is so sudden that Clarke shakes herself. She’s here to patch up her old life, to take back some kind of normality. Both Bellamy and Polis can wait until Monday.

“So, uh...” Clarke forces herself to speak but she’s spared the effort of coming up with something to say when Josephine arrives out of nowhere, her blonde hair draping down her back.

“Why are you here?” she says with a little too much bite, stopping in front of Clarke and Finn.

“Am I not supposed to be?” Clarke asks carefully, hoping somewhere deep inside that she and Josephine can still be friends. Maybe it’s delusional of her, a little pathetic maybe, but the hope is there all the same.

“Come on, Jo,” Finn chimes in.

There’s something in his voice that makes Clarke’s head tilt, something she’s never heard before when he’s talking with Josephine. A familiarity, an easiness in his tone. They only talk when they have to, she irritates him, he calls her clingy. Clarke is usually the mediator between the pair of them. Now, Finn is currently taking on that role.

“No, Finn.” Josephine holds up her hand. “I told you not to bring her.”

She _told_ him? Like they somehow have a communication flow now? As though Finn listens to her? Since when?

 _Since Clarke’s carrier status, it seems_.

“Am I missing something here?” Clarke shares her gaze between the two of them, like something is going on that she should be privy to.

Finn’s eyes jump to Josephine’s and Clarke doesn’t miss how he subtly shakes his head. A silent sentence that asks her old best friend to drop it.

“Finn.” Josephine’s eyes widen at him. “I thought you said we —”

“I told you not to do this tonight. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

That’s when Clarke realises that they’ve been discussing her, clearly at length. They’ve been together, meeting up or calling one another. What else is she in the dark about?

“Have you been in space? Walking around up there without oxygen?” Josephine snaps at him. “Try using your _brain_.”

There’s no missing her meaning. It’s obvious that Josephine thinks he’s using a different part of his anatomy. She seems more jealous than irritated though and Clarke’s stomach is turning at the thought. This is starting to feel less and less like her old life, even if all the old people are present. Maybe she just doesn’t fit into their world anymore. Maybe there’s no room for her and they’ve all moved on perfectly fine, as if she was never part of it in the first place.

Well, even if it’s easy for them, it’s hard for Clarke to let go. She still wants to be here. “Jo, please.”

“Fuck off.” Josephine scoffs. “We all know what you are, what you’re capable of. At least we found out now before you got the chance to hurt one of us.”

Clarke practically shivers from the shock of her words. Her mouth falls open. It’s only then that she’s aware of the silence in the house — the music has stopped and the conversations along with it. All eyes are on the confrontation but nobody dares to defend Clarke. At least in Polis, Clarke isn’t treated like this. Her mind drifts to Bellamy once more, wondering if he’d speak up for her, like he did with Dax.

It suddenly occurs to her that she’s faced much worse than her best friend turning on her. _Fuck this_.

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke throws out. “You think I’d actually hurt one of you?”

“I know you probably _think_ you wouldn’t.” Josephine folds her arms, a humourless smirk on her expression. “But all carriers think that at first. It’s only a matter of time until you snap and it’s always the ones closest to you that gets hurt.”

Clarke sets her jaw, wishing Josephine’s words weren’t currently engraving their way into her mind, setting up residence in there for her to carry with her for the rest of her life. They trigger a burning anger inside her chest, the pain fanning the flames. She’s dying to hurl her drink right at her stupid face.

“Fuck you!”

“Alright, enough,” Finn interrupts, pulling Clarke’s arm away from Josephine.

At first, Clarke thinks they’re leaving and she feels relieved. Coming here only reminded her that she’s not part of this group anymore, not welcome as a positive carrier. Instead, Finn steers them up the stairs.

“Are you kidding me Finn? You can go fuck yourself!” Josephine yells after them, a catch in her throat like she’s about to cry.

“Where are we going?” Clarke asks Finn, ignoring her old best friend at the bottom of the stairs. She’s lost to her, clearly.

“The spare room. We can have some privacy there.”

Clarke rushes out a relieved breath. They can finally talk and figure everything out. She can tell him about Polis and how hard this has all been for her. They definitely need a plan if they’re going to make this work. She decides to ignore the pinch inside her chest over him and Josephine. There’s more important things to talk about.

Once the door is closed though, any chance for words is extinguished because Finn’s mouth is over hers. He crowds her against the wall, welcoming her back to normality and this life she thought she had to leave behind. He still wants her, still needs her. She could cry with relief.

He pulls her towards the bed, their bodies a mess of limbs as they fall back onto it. It would be so easy to get swept up in this and after all, Clarke had been promising him that they’d be more intimate. Maybe now is the perfect time, reuniting despite her circumstances. He’s clearly accepting of her no matter who she is.

She smirks against Finn’s lips, realising Bellamy was wrong. Not everyone will judge her.

But as good as it feels, Clarke can’t truly enjoy it without talking about everything first. She needs to iron things out, know where they are standing going forward. She breaks from his lips to speak but Finn quickly captures her mouth again. His hand pulls her thigh closer to him.

“Finn,” she tries but his lips are insistent, demanding her full attention on their kissing. She pushes both her hands against his chest, forcing him to lift up a little. “Can we take a minute?”

He kisses a line down her neck. “For what?”

“To talk.”

Finn sneaks his hands under her sweater. “We don’t need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.” Clarke sits up straighter, away from his distractions.

Finn groans, sitting back on his heels as she settles herself against the headboard of the bed. “Clarke, what good will talking do?”

“We have to talk. Everything has changed. I’m not even welcome here.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can handle Jo.”

He’s clearly annoyed that she’s stopped their intimacy but Clarke is annoyed at _that_ sentence. He can handle her? He shouldn’t be this buffer between them. They’ve never had anything but a forced tolerance for one another. Haven’t they?

“What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” Finn mutters but he doesn’t look at her when he says it.

“I just thought I saw something between —”

“Clarke,” Finn drags out. “I’m assuming you didn’t stop us to talk about Josephine so just say what you want to say and be done with it.”

Clarke stills, staring at him. Since when does he speak to her like this? Like he has no respect for her or what they are to one another. She’s only ever seen his sweet and loving side.

“I just don’t know how we’re going to make things work. I’m not going to Sanctum.” The weight of a stone sinks inside her as she says this. It’s the first time she’s said it out loud. “That’s not happening for me anymore. You’ll be across the country and I’ll be…here.”

Finn sighs, readjusting himself on the bed so that he’s beside her with his arm draped around her shoulders. Clarke settles into him, desperate for the comfort — desperate to hear his reassurances. That they’ll be okay, that they’ll survive this — that _she’ll_ be okay.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” he says instead, leaning in to kiss her again. His lips press against hers despite her effort to pull away but his arm around her shoulders holds her in place. “We can just enjoy being together tonight.”

She kisses him back hesitantly but this doesn’t feel right. She had wanted to take this step with Finn but now, now everything just feels wrong. Here, in this room with people downstairs who think she’s some kind of monster, with her entire life up in the air and no solid ground to fall on.

“Finn,” she manages, pulling back ever so slightly as his hands fumble at the button of her jeans.

“Come on, Clarke. I need this.”

 _This_. Not her.

Her heart hardens, a twisting feeling inside her stomach.

“I can’t,” she announces. This time, there’s no room for persuasion in her tone.

Finn lifts up, his eyes boring into her. He knows she’s not in any kind of position to be sweet-talked and being honest, it’s not like he’s tried very hard to do that in the first place. His expression shifts from confusion to irritation to anger.

“Why not?”

Clarke moves to the edge of the bed, re-doing the button on her jeans. “This isn’t how I imagined —”

“Have you imagined it at all?” He cuts her off. “I’m starting to think you haven’t.”

She stares at him, her heart beginning to race inside her chest. It’s like Finn is transforming into someone completely different in front of her. She doesn’t recognise this person, so callous and blunt.

“Why are you being like this? You can’t even begin to understand what I’ve gone through the past —”

“I’ve waited months, Clarke. And you just keep teasing me.” He stands up harshly, fixing his hair with his fingers like he’s beyond frustrated. “You should be grateful that someone even wants to sleep with you, especially now.”

It’s like a match strikes Clarke’s skin, setting it on fire. Blood runs hotly inside her veins, making her feel like she’s vibrating.

“Excuse me?”

Finn just shakes his head, smoothing down his t-shirt and compressing his lips like he’s holding something back, like he’s said too much.

“Why should I be grateful? _Especially now._ ”

She waits for an answer, her chest swelling with an emotion she can’t even name. At the core, she’s hoping he’ll come up with something to change all the terrible things she’s thinking. He can’t be like the rest of them, dismissive and cold to her. She needs him to prove that he doesn’t see her as damaged, that her old life isn’t burned and buried for good. She needs something to hold onto, something tangible. That someone still sees her as the same Clarke as she was before a test result, that Finn didn’t bring her here tonight expecting some kind of reward for putting up with her. _That Bellamy wasn't right with what he said._

The words never come.

A stranger stares back at her, his eyes dull and hollow. He doesn’t need to say anything at this point. _She knows_. God, she was so fucking wrong about him. What else has she been wrong about?

She shakes her head, a hurt smile on her face. “Wow.”

She thinks about him and Josephine, the paranoia that has been bothering her since downstairs demanding full attention now. For some reason, the confirmation of them as an item doesn’t seem as important now that he’s basically all but admitted that he just brought Clarke here for sex, but she puts it out in the open anyway.

“You and Josephine.” She wishes her voice didn’t shake. “You’ve been sleeping with her.”

At least Finn as the decency to look sheepish. He tongues the inside of his teeth, staring at the ground.

“Even before the test result.” Clarke nods like she’s confirming it to herself, tears already forming in her eyes.

They didn’t just develop that kind of intimacy overnight and Josephine definitely didn’t develop jealousy over a few days of seeing Finn. Clarke isn’t stupid, she can piece the parts together. She might have missed their secret in school but now, it’s clear as day. Finn’s silence is as loud as the party downstairs.

“You piece of shit,” she mutters.

A red hot urgency runs through her. She needs to get out of here. As she spins towards the door, every vibration from the music buzzes up through her feet. It only grows louder when she pulls the door open and flies down the stairs, desperate to be away from the life she yearned to cling onto.

She barely reaches the front porch when Finn grabs her arm and forces her around. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She shrugs him off, pounding down the steps.

The street is dark in front of her and Clarke knows it’s past 10pm, she can’t be caught out here by herself. It was fine when Finn was supposed to be driving her home but now, she’s exposed. Diana Sydney warned her not to be out past curfew.

“At least let me drive you,” Finn offers, apparently having the decency to do that. Nothing else about him is as respectable.

Clarke spins around, thinking she’d rather die than be in a car with him. “I’m _good_.”

His face turns to stone, the rejection clearly hurting him. He has the audacity to be insulted after the way he behaved upstairs.

A crowd spills out behind him, like vultures sensing an imminent kill. They’re eager to watch the show, fed by the drama. Clarke vows not to give them any. This is done, nothing more needs to be said.

Finn cocks his head over his shoulder, becoming aware of their audience before jogging down the steps, stopping just a few feet in front of Clarke. She folds her arms, unsure why she’s still standing here. She’s expecting an apology, not that he even deserves an opportunity to give one. What he said is unforgivable and they’re through. There’s no going back. Still, Clarke tells herself that she can be graceful and at least acknowledge that he’s saying sorry.

Finn glares at her, not a hint of familiarity in those eyes. It took Clarke losing herself to find that she never really knew any of them at all. If they could turn on her so easily, despite knowing her for so long, maybe they never deserved a place in her life. Finn certainly showed his true colours. Ironically, it’s them that has changed, not her. It’s a hard lesson but at least she knows now, has some closure to shut the door on this chapter of her life. There’s nothing left for her here.

Clarke waits for him to talk because she certainly has nothing to say to him. Finn gives one final glance over his shoulder, seeing Josephine after pushing her way to the front of the crowd. He turns back to Clarke and breathes out the breath in his lungs.

“Maybe don’t text me anymore. It’s not good for any of us.”

Clarke blinks. “What?”

“I agreed to let you come tonight but it’s clear now that it was a mistake. So just cool it with the contact — I’m not interested,” he says, his lips curving up into a slight smile when he hears the others on the porch laughing.

Clarke glares at him. She thought he’d at least be sorry for the way he behaved upstairs but now, she realises this conversation was never going to be about that. Josephine smirks, satisfied.

“You texted _me_ ,” Clarke corrects him, baffled. “You invited _me_ here.”

“As if.” He chuckles but there’s a hint of nerves under it. He shakes his head, making a show of laughing in front of their friends. _His_ friends.

It’s then that Clarke understands. He’s doing this for their benefit, making sure they know _a carrier_ isn’t the one dumping him. The smug look on his face makes her burn with anger. Jesus, what the hell did she see in him? She doesn’t need this, doesn’t need people like this. Her company in Polis might not be perfect or even ideal but damn it, they’re labelled carriers — _prophesied killers_! They don’t even act this cruel.

It’s a bitter sting to once again realise that maybe there are no good guys or bad guys, maybe there’s just people and the choices they make.

“I don’t recognise you,” she tells him flatly, disgusted by him.

A chorus of “oooh’s” erupt from the porch, fuelling the confrontation. It works in getting Finn’s back up, making him believe she just burned him when really, she was just being honest.

“Whatever, Clarke.” He shrugs like he’s unbothered but Clarke can see the fire in his eyes. “You should have slept with me when you had the chance. You’re just damaged goods now. Nobody will want you.”

Clarke’s hand shoots out. Before she even realises what she’s doing, her palm connects with Finn’s cheek. Gasps ripple through the spectators on the porch, horrified at what they’ve just witnessed.

Josephine thunders down the steps, shrieking and pointing at her. “See? See? Look at what she’s just done!”

Even in the dark, Clarke can see the redness from where she slapped Finn. He’s staring at her wide eyed, his hand pressed to his face like it might fall off. Any girl could have done it but it wasn’t just any girl. It was her. And she can’t do things like that with her status. Acting like that is wrong but for her, it’s a sin. Being a carrier makes everything magnified. She might as well have shot him.

Clarke backs away, her entire body shaking. Fuck. Now, she is what they say she is. Unpredictable, liable to snap at any opportunity.

“Leave, Clarke!” Josephine screams. “Go! Get the fuck away from us.”

And she does. She runs as far away from those people as she possibly can. She doesn’t belong there. Maybe she never did.

* * *

The streets haven't felt safe in a long time, especially not when darkness creeps in. Now though, it feels even less safe because Clarke isn't supposed to be out on them.

She pulls her hands inside the sleeves of her sweater, suddenly wishing she brought an extra layer. April still brings cold nights. She glances around herself again, moving her steps a little quicker. It will take her over an hour to reach home on foot. She checks her father’s watch for the tenth time, as if it will have miraculously turned itself backwards and she won’t be past her curfew. Her parents aren’t answering their phones and Wells is probably already asleep, wrecked after getting up at the crack of dawn for work. She tries them all again with no luck.

_Damn it._

She chews her bottom lip, keeping up her pace. The air comes out like white smoke from her breath, proving that it’s as cold as she thinks it is out here.

Her heart is still hammering from her interaction with Finn and her stomach is twisted into a vicious knot. She wishes she hadn’t given any of them that scene. Although it hardly matters what they think of her anymore. She’s an outcast to them and maybe it’s for the best.

She brushes her fingers against her lips, still tasting Finn there. It’s familiar but no longer comforting or exciting. Their memories together are tinged with hurt and betrayal now. Clarke always thought of herself as a perceptive person so she’s not sure how she missed the signs of him cheating on her with her best friend, how she missed the signs of him just using her for someone to sleep with. He doesn’t want her, not really. Not in any way that’s important. Especially not now.

Surely she's worth more than Finn not seeing her, worth more than him just wanting her body or her reputation to boost his ego. Surely she's worth more than her goddamn kill gene. She blows out a breath, shaking herself. None of this matters. She can feel sorry for herself later. Right now, she has to get home before she’s caught out here after curfew.

There’s also the risk that she’ll run into trouble. Even in a nice area like this, where the houses sit far back from the road and are draped in oak trees, it’s not completely safe. The most dangerous parts of Shallow Valley are contained to the outskirts of town for now but it’s hard to stop the spillover. Areas like these and the town itself have had their own trouble of late. All Clarke needs to do is turn on the news to remind herself of that, or even think about why Pike’s HTS programme exists.

Entire cities like Chicago have even been left abandoned by their residents. Criminals run those streets now. Law enforcement doesn’t even set foot in those places. Their presence is even lacking in the outskirts of Shallow Valley and it worries Clarke that Wells still works out there.

Cops still patrol her neighbourhood, though, making arrests if people are even acting suspicious. That used to make Clarke feel safe, now she just feels hunted. She quickens her pace even more, passing manicured lawns and white picket fences. Every car that passes in the distance makes her jump, makes her squint to identify any red and blue lights on their roof.

What is she going to do? Who does she have left to call?

A car turns the corner up ahead and Clarke’s pulse jackknifes. Without much thought into the action, she dives behind a hedge that lines a driveway, desperate to stay hidden. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest, every thump making her breath rattle. The vehicle passes and Clarke’s muscles leak out their tension. The engine fades away in the distance, leaving the neighbourhood in silence once more.

 _Fuck._ It wasn’t a police car but it could have been.

Even though the place is now void of movement, Clarke doesn’t get up from behind the hedge. She's anxiously tapping her knee with her fingers, trying to decide what the hell she's going to do. She has to get home because she can't bare to think what would happen if someone of authority catches her out past curfew. Even if there's no patrol in this area, a resident could call the cops and alert them to the fact that there's a suspicious character hiding behind a garden hedge. Is this really her fucking life right now?

Clarke lights up her phone again, an option teasing her mind. _She could_. It’s ridiculous, possibly dangerous, but she could. The goal right now is to avoid getting into trouble and calling him definitely spells trouble. But what other choice does she have?

Fuck it.

“What are you doing?” she mutters to herself, dialling information.

The operator takes a few seconds to connect her and Clarke’s eyes dart everywhere as she waits. This is a stupid idea. She doesn't have much time to think about it because a woman's voice comes onto the line.

“Hello? Dead Zone Diner.”

Clarke swallows. _God, she can't believe she's doing this._ She takes another breath to steady herself _._

“Hi. I'm looking for Bellamy Blake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	6. Your Soul Is a Mix of Chaos and Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Thanks so much for reading once again. Your comments and the support has been overwhelming. I am honestly so grateful.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Outnumbered - Dermot Kennedy (are y'all sensing a theme with me?)

* * *

**Lecture from Charles Pike to the National Center for Analysis of Violent Crime at Quantico:**

A female carrier should be considered as much of a threat as a male. Do not be biased or fooled based on gender. In a manner, females are more complicated than their male counterparts. Without DNA testing, she would likely remain unidentifiable until she snaps. Her actions are less predictable, therefore, making her extremely dangerous.

* * *

Clarke chews her bottom lip, balancing on the line of regretting her decision of trying to call Bellamy at work and resigning to the fact that she had no other choice. Fuck, maybe he’s not even at the diner tonight. Or worse, if he is, he might hang up on her.

“He’s busy,” the woman finally replies, her tone clipped.

“I know.” Clarke closes her eyes. “Just...this is his sister, Octavia. It’s an emergency.”

There's a pause before she responds. “Hold on.”

Sounds of cutlery clink in the background and bells ding to ring up orders. Finally, there’s a shuffle on the other end, paired with shallow breaths.

“O?” Bellamy rushes out, panicked.

Fuck, she shouldn’t have lied. Now he thinks something is wrong at home. She winces, shaking her head. Jesus, she feels pathetic.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s Clarke." She then feels the need to clarify, like he still might not know who she is. "From school.” 

“Clarke?” His deep voice sends a shiver up her neck. The previous panic in his tone hasn’t faded, despite knowing that it’s not his sister.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to call you at work,” she rasps, pressing her phone hard against her ear. “It’s just…” There’s a long silence as she tries to get the words out. God, this whole day has been a fucking disaster. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

To admit that to someone who might as well be a stranger to her, an imprinted carrier, someone she can’t figure out, it makes her cringe.

It’s silent again and Clarke probably perceives it as longer than it actually is. A ball of anxiety is bouncing around inside her stomach and she suddenly wonders if being arrested would be really that bad.

“I’m sorry. I’m fine," she says quickly. "I shouldn’t have —”

“Where are you?” Bellamy asks.

“No, it's okay. This is stupid. I didn't mean to disrupt you at work or worry you about your sister. I'm fine.”

“Clarke. It’s past curfew. Where are you?”

His voice is serious and Clarke can still hear the concern in it. It’s foreign to her because the Bellamy she has been dealing with is usually hard lines and rough edges. He doesn’t show a trace of soft emotion.

She sighs. “101 Eden Avenue.”

“I’ll be there soon, stay out of sight,” Bellamy warns before hanging up.

Clarke does as she's told, deciding to stay put in her position behind the hedge. She bites her thumbnail as she listens for cars, berating herself for going to that fucking party in the first place. Now, here she is, waiting on Bellamy Blake’s help from behind a bush.

To be honest, she’s surprised he’s even coming. He had told her yesterday that he was going to let her fend for herself in the future, all because she had to defend her pride, announce that she was able to take care of things on her own. _Clearly._

After about ten minutes, a rattle of an engine grows louder on the street. When Clarke peers out over the hedge, she sees an old rover moving slowly. Even in the dark, she recognises Bellamy’s curly hair.

Relief spreads across her body and she tells herself it's because she's no longer exposed to the open streets. If she allowed herself to admit it though, she knows this isn't the first time she felt safe because of him. She jumps up and crosses the road, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Heat rises to her cheeks when he rolls down the window, his dark eyes scanning her as if she might be injured.

“Get in,” he instructs, leaning over and opening the passenger door for her. It swings open with a groan and she hops inside.

She breathes out a sigh once she bangs the door shut behind her and leans back against his worn seats. “Thank you.”

Bellamy looks back towards the road, his mouth in a tight line. He pulls the rover away from the sidewalk and they start to drive, his posture is rigid. Clarke wonders if the tension is suffocating him like it is her. She gets why her stomach is tight with anticipation but it's the flutters in there as well that Clarke can’t understand.

“Where do you live?” Bellamy rumbles.

Clarke gives him her address, her voice weak in comparison. The air is palpable between them. They drive in silence for a few minutes but it’s like something is waiting to erupt, like the quiet can only last for so long before it bursts open. Clarke isn’t surprised when the break comes.

“What were you doing out after curfew?” Bellamy demands to know.

She shifts her head to his side profile, noticing his clenched jaw. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, making the veins in his forearms pop. The imprint on the side of his neck is obvious, even in the shadows of the truck. It doesn’t lessen his attractiveness, she realizes.

“I was at a party,” she admits.

He scoffs. “A party.”

He clearly thinks she was out living it up, skipped curfew and then called him out of work to help her. That’s definitely not what happened. She opens her mouth to explain but he gets there first.

“You think you can still do those kinds of things, Princess?” Bellamy glances at her sharply. “God. You have no idea how the world works. Life’s not like that for you anymore.”

“So I’m learning,” she snaps back.

She hasn’t exactly had the most perfect night. The urge to defend herself bubbles up through her. She’s in no humour to tolerate this shit. He might have come to help her and she’s grateful for that but she could do without the lecture.

“Yeah?” He laughs, hollow. “You might have to work it out a little quicker.”

“Like you were so quick at working things out?” The words tumble out of her mouth, completely unheeded. “Guess you didn’t learn fast enough because you got imprinted.”

The rover swerves as Bellamy pulls it in against the sidewalk and Clarke’s body snaps to the side from the force. Her nerve endings light up, panic starting to pump through her veins. Maybe she isn’t such a quick learner after all. She’s apparently just made a serious mistake with her loose tongue.

The knowledge of her being alone in a vehicle with an imprinted carrier echoes in her head and fuels her flight instinct. She’s just pissed off an offender, one that was dangerous enough to get a tattoo on his neck to warn the public about his status. Clarke clearly got too complacent with him.

“What are you doing?” she yells once the rover stops, scrambling for the door handle.

Before she can open it, Bellamy lunges across and pulls her hand away. It results in a fight for power: Clarke trying to escape and Bellamy trying to stop her. He pulls at her hands as she tries to open his door again.

“Clarke,” he tries but she doesn’t give him an inch.

He’s much bigger than Finn, more muscular. He overpowers her by a mile. A scream rises up her body, barely leaking out before Bellamy pushes his hand over her mouth. He holds it against her firmly, blocking any sound. She freezes, her eyes wide on him. This close, Clarke can see the dust of freckles across his nose and tiny dots of gold in the brown of his eyes. His earthy scent fills her nostrils. Clarke’s chest rises and falls as she watches him. Now that she’s focusing, she can detect the undertone of desperation in his features.

“Stop,” he says, soft. “You’re going to get us both in trouble. You think it’s bad now, you have no idea how bad it can get.”

He flicks his gaze to the street around him, probably scanning for a cop car. Clarke’s heart rate slows but doesn’t resume it’s normal pace. Her nerves are nowhere near calm. The truck is suddenly too warm and she’s pretty sure she shouldn’t have a swooping sensation in her lower stomach caused by his large hand over her mouth. The only reaction that move should pry out of her is fear.

Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice her internal quarrel of emotions and starts to lessen his pressure against her.

“Please. Just…” he breathes. “Don’t scream.”

Clarke nods against his hand and so, he slowly lifts it. He’s careful, like he’s afraid she’ll go against her word and scream anyway. Heat rises to her cheeks, embarrassed because she clearly overreacted. She tells herself that this is the only reason why her face is red.

“I’m sorry.” Clarke mumbles. As a carrier herself, one who believes she was wrongly diagnosed, she should be less judgemental. “That was stupid.”

“No.” Bellamy leans back against his own seat, sounding almost tired. “You should be reacting like that. Around every carrier, marked or not.”

Clarke’s eyes drift to his tattoo, taking it in again. She could ask what he did to get it but it feels like a question that’s too personal for the relationship they have. They barely know each other. Besides, she’s not sure she really wants to know.

Bellamy turns his head, giving her a pointed look. “Stop looking at it. Look at _me_.”

Clarke locks eyes with him. Suddenly, any air is extinguished from her lungs. The gravity of the way he’s looking at her makes her heart skip.

“Believe me when I tell you this, Princess, you need to be careful. Even around Sydney, anyone with Pike’s Agency. Everyone…” he trails off. “Even me.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to be alone? No allies?” she asks, the prospect of facing this thing by herself more terrifying than anything else.

“It’s better that way.” Bellamy shifts his gaze back to the street, putting distance between them. “You shouldn’t have called me and I shouldn’t have come. I can’t look out for you.”

Clarke bristles at that.

“It was my only choice,” she admits, hating that she was desperate enough to do that, hating that she doesn’t have a friend to her name that would pick up the phone for her. “I just needed a ride, not a bodyguard.”

An image of Bellamy helping her with Dax springs to mind and her words lack the desired punch. She’s adamant that she doesn’t need his help and he’s persistent on not giving it to her. Yet, both of them face the conflict of doing the exact opposite.

“You need a bodyguard in the _worst_ way.” He shakes his head. “I just can’t be it.”

Clarke stares at him, hating how that affects her. She shouldn’t care. She was alone in this from the start. Yet, the emotion clogging her throat makes her think that she had some hope of having people in her corner. Tonight might have proven that Finn or Josephine aren’t behind her but she thought she had something in common with some of her classmates in Polis.

Bellamy may not like her very much and she might not have wanted to depend on him but he was…something to her. She doesn’t need him as a bodyguard but it makes her heart stop to realise that she does _need_ him. She can’t explain why.

“It's a weakness,” Bellamy whispers, so quiet that Clarke barely catches it.

“What is?”

He purses his lips, staring at the steering wheel in front of him too hard. “You can’t afford to be weak, not in a game like this.”

Clarke furrows her brow. “Game?”

Bellamy starts the engine again, the rover chucking to life. He pulls off from the sidewalk and out into the night once more.

“You’ll learn.”

They're both quiet the rest of the way home. Clarke rests her head against the window, allowing herself to finally wallow. This day has taken more punches at her than it deserved. Between the assignment with Bellamy, the conversation with Monty, her letter from Sanctum, the party that she can’t even think back on and now this with Bellamy again — she’s drained. She should have stayed asleep in her bed.

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, watching the way his jaw ticks and how his eyes dart around the road in front of him. Thoughts are clearly turning in his head and Clarke realises she'd give her left arm to know what he's thinking. As the days go on, he becomes more mysterious than the one before. Why does she feel this connection to him then? This security when he's anything but safe?

They pull up outside of her house and she can see Bellamy eyeing it, noticing the expensive cars around the front. Like he doesn’t have enough reason to believe that she’s privileged.

“Thanks,” she mutters, opening the noisy door of his rover and hopping out.

“Be more careful,” he tells her when she’s turned back to face him. _Because he won’t bail her out again_. He doesn’t need to say it for it to be true.

“Yeah,” she says, clipped. “See you Monday.”

Just before she clangs the door closed, she thinks she almost detects a hint of regret in Bellamy’s eyes. He doesn’t drive away until Clarke is inside her house, which seems a little too courteous for someone who just vowed to never help her again.

Clarke leans against the door once it’s shut behind her, observing the darkness of her hallway. Her mom is obviously on a late shift and Thelonious is probably in bed. Wells too. It’s where Clarke should be heading but her mind is too active. She’s done with this day but it doesn’t seem to be done with her. Sleep won’t come easy to her, she knows that much. It’s probably why she reaches for her bag at the bottom of the stairs and fishes her sketchbook out of it.

Once in her bedroom, she switches on the lamp by her bedside and settles herself on her vanity chair, letting out a laboured breath. The rumble of a deep voice echoes through her head as she begins sketching Bellamy again, finishing her piece that she already started. This time, she has more detail to go off. She adds in flecks of gold in his eyes and a constellation of freckles along his nose.

He basically told her that she couldn’t depend on him, that he’d never be her ally or friend or whatever. Yet, she finds solace in drawing him. Like no matter what lies ahead of her, no matter what Finn said tonight, no matter how others treat her, she’s safe as long as she’s looking at Bellamy Blake.

It’s weird, she knows it is. But she’ll take peace where she can find it these days.

* * *

Monday rolls around quicker than Clarke would have liked.

The weekend wasn’t long enough, yet it felt too long all the same — too long to be in the house with her parents. The times they were actually at home, they treated Clarke with kid gloves. Like she was liable to break down at any second. Her mom knows that she and Finn are over but Clarke spared her the details of why. They probably guessed that it was to do with her HTS status and maybe it was better off to let them think that. Ultimately, it’s what it all boils down to anyway. It resulted in everyone being overly nice to her all weekend. Clarke thinks she actually preferred them arguing over her being a monster.

As she slips into her desk in Polis, as much as she hates it, she’s glad nobody will be looking at her sympathetically for a few hours.

Her classmates drift in, taking their seats as the day begins. Dax is back today but like Mbege, he avoids her completely like he knows she’s untouchable now. If they only knew that Bellamy revoked all of his protection over her.

The man himself stalks in after Raven and Clarke snaps her attention down to the book he gave her, determined not to make eye contact with him at all. She spent all weekend analysing Friday night with him and it’s clear where he stands. No friendship, keep to themselves. Clarke doesn’t want to do this alone but if she has to, she will.

It’s pretty easy to do that until Raven approaches her after about an hour, bending down in front of Clarke’s desk.

“Hey.”

“Hey?” Clarke replies, her head still leaning against her hand as she reads _Wanheda_.

Raven’s dark hair, swept back into a ponytail, flicks when she turns her head. “You’re Clarke, right?”

“Right.”

“I’m just wondering if I could borrow your book when you’re done?” She gestures to _Wanheda_. “I need something new.”

“Um, sure,” Clarke says, closing the book and offering it to her. “Take it now, it’s fine.”

Raven gives her a short smile. “You sure?”

Clarke nods, grateful for any effort coming from Raven at all. She takes the book with a humbled “thank you.” It’s the most interaction they’ve had and considering Raven’s demeanour intimidates her most of the time, it could have gone worse. She takes it as a win.

Just before lunch, Clarke is crowding over her sketchpad as she finishes details of Bellamy’s hair. Her arms are covering her work in case anyone would peer over and see it. She’s so focused that when a notepad slaps off her table, she jumps. Her pencil slips from her hand and she quickly slams her sketchbook shut. By the time she looks up, Bellamy is already dragging his chair over to her desk. He plops down in front of her and their eyes connect.

“What were you drawing?”

Clarke wills herself to regain composure but there’s already heat rising to her cheeks. She can’t exactly tell him that she was drawing _him_.

“Nothing,” she tells him quickly.

Bellamy, unshaken and confident as always, simply smirks in that annoying way of his and opens up his notepad. She wonders why he’s even over here when he made himself perfectly clear on Friday night. It’s then that Clarke spots the worksheet lying between the pages in front of him.

“Thought we’d finish that assignment,” he says, pulling the cap from his pen.

She thought he wasn’t interested in that, either. He was hardly a willing subject when the interview questions were posed to _him_. He seemed completely bored with the whole thing.

“Okay,” Clarke says slowly.

“Okay. Name?” Bellamy begins, hunching over the worksheet as he prepares to write her answers.

“Clarke Griffin.”

He goes through the list of questions, Clarke supplying her answers like a robot. Nothing is off script until he comes to his seventh question.

“Parents?”

“Abigail Griffin and Thelonious Jaha,” Clarke tells him, watching Bellamy's eyes still at the mention of her stepfather.

He pops his head up, staring at her steadily with the slightest smirk on his face.

“What?” Clarke deadpans, knowing exactly _what_.

“Thelonious Jaha.” Bellamy quirks his eyebrow. “As in _Chancellor_ Jaha?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, folding her arms. Great, another thing for him to be smug about. Like he doesn’t have enough ammunition to think she comes from an elite society.

“Okay.” Bellamy half laughs, clearly amused by her reaction as he looks back down.

Maybe Clarke wants to wipe that smirk from his face, to let him know it hasn’t always been 100% perfect all of the time. It’s what prompts her next sentence, slipping unheeded between her lips.

“My father died when I was young. Jake Griffin. In case you want to laugh about that as well.”

Bellamy’s pencil stops mid-motion as he flicks his gaze back up to her. There’s sympathy in his eyes, the same one she yearned to get away from all weekend. Now she wishes she never said anything at all. He relaxes his shoulders and straightens while she squirms under his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. The rumble of his voice reaches Clarke’s chest and the feeling vibrates over her entire body. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

Clarke shrugs, biting the inside of her lip. For some reason, his apology makes her feel emotional in a way she hasn’t felt about her dad in a long time. She picks a groove mark on her desk and stares at it, hoping the feeling passes.

“Let’s just get on with it,” she mutters.

Bellamy shifts in his chair, a little awkward in the way he continues now. “Siblings?”

“A stepbrother. Wells.”

“Hobbies?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke hesitates. Does she really want to divulge such a personal area of herself to him? Art is something that lives in her very core. She just shrugs, hoping that he doesn’t care enough to press her.

“Come on,” he prompts, a half smile on his lips. “You have them.”

Clarke twirls her pencil between her fingers. She does, but would he even care about it? Finn certainly didn't. He never asked to see her sketches or cared enough to wonder where her inspiration came from. He even played down her acceptance to Sanctum.

“Debutante training?” Bellamy teases. “Tennis at the country club?”

Clarke glares at him, no real heat behind it.

“Funny,” she quips, a coy smirk fighting its way onto her own expression. “No. Art.”

“Like visiting museums?” Bellamy lifts his head properly, eyes curious.

“No, like creating it,” Clarke murmurs, shy in talking about her passion. It feels like she’s exposing the most intimate part of herself to him.

“With pencils?” He nods at the one in her hand.

“Anything.” Clarke fiddles with the corner of her sketchbook. “Paint. Charcoal. Whatever.”

“That’s really cool,” he says simply. It’s mild, but coming from him, it makes her blush. “Is that why you’re always doodling at the edge of your paper?”

Clarke looks up at him, observing the way his eyes never move from hers. He seems so different from Friday night, so open and willing for a conversation. She wonders if something has changed for him, that maybe he spoke too rashly. It’s a pipe dream, though. Clarke knows better than to hope for something like that, especially the way her life is going lately.

“I don’t always do it,” she mutters, watching how his curls fall in every direction as he writes her answer down on his sheet.

“You do,” he points out.

When he glances up at her from under his brows, Clarke’s breath catches. He appears so confident, so unaffected by her when it seems all he has to do is look at her to send her heart racing. It’s a feeling she hasn’t given much heed to until now.

“Oh.” Clarke tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear as she shifts her gaze down to her closed sketchbook. “No one has really pointed that out before.”

“Then they’re not paying attention,” Bellamy replies easily.

Her eyes flick up. Is _he?_ She barely has a moment to recover from that when he moves onto the next question.

“Boyfriend?”

Clarke almost chokes. “What?”

He shrugs, like what he said doesn’t warrant any kind of reaction. “Do you have a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

Clarke blinks at him, speechless. She certainly didn’t expect that and she wonders if she missed the question on her worksheet for him. Not that they even got this far when it was his turn.

“You’re seventeen, right?”

“Almost eighteen.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy holds out his hand, like his question is therefore obvious now. “Seems like a relevant question while interviewing a teenage girl.”

“Um, no,” Clarke stutters, sitting up a little straighter. “I don’t have one.”

Bellamy seems satisfied with that, scribbling down her answer. She doesn’t have to say anything else but she hears herself confessing more.

“We broke up. Friday night.”

Bellamy looks at her, more mystery in his eyes than ever. Clarke’s mouth moves of its own accord, admitting things to him that she didn’t intend to.

“That’s why I left the party. I broke up with him and stormed off,” she says, chewing her lip. Bellamy considers her, tilting his head back like he’s absorbing the information. “He just couldn’t handle what I am now,” Clarke finishes, unable to confess the slap she gave Finn. She regrets it, regrets losing control no matter what he tried to do with her.

“So he just let you walk off?” Bellamy asks sharply. “On your own? After curfew?”

“I didn’t give him a choice.”

“He had a choice,” Bellamy says flatly, his voice deep and rough.

Clarke rubs the back of her neck, hoping it will smooth down the hairs that are standing up back there.

“No, really,” she says. “We had a fight and I wouldn’t let him drive me home. He was being…difficult. I didn’t want to be in the car with him.”

“I’m assuming he has two legs.” Bellamy gives her a pointed look. “He could have gone after you. I would have.”

Clarke feels like the butterflies have taken her organs captive. Heat rises to her face and she’s unsure what way to react so she just releases a short, breathless laugh. She imagines Bellamy in a position where he’s her boyfriend. An unlikely scenario considering he probably doesn’t think much of her.

Bellamy gestures to the worksheet. “I think I have enough.”

He stands and returns to his table so abruptly that Clarke has to blink a couple of times. For a second there, things had felt…no. She’s reading too much into things. Still, there didn’t have to be so much conversation for a worksheet interview. He was talking to her like they were more than acquaintances that attend the same school, like he hadn’t warned her to keep her guard up around him.

Clarke’s heart sinks inside her chest, hating that for a second there, she hadn’t felt so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	7. This is How You Remind Me of What I Really Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a trigger warning for this chapter in the end notes in case anyone needs to check it before reading. A massive thank you to Sam for reminding me that today is actually Saturday because I seemingly don't know days of the week anymore. You can all thank her for this update being on time 💛
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ How You Remind Me - Nickelback (Avril Lavigne cover)

* * *

_Sunday, April 23, 2023_ . _More than 42,000 registered carriers._

**Group text between students from Arkadia Private School:**

_Fox:_ Is it true about Friday night? Clarke really hit Finn at Josephine’s party?

 _Sterling_ : Yeah, I heard he’s missing a tooth because of her.

 _Fox:_ What? She’s fucking crazy.

 _Trina:_ Of course she is, she has the kill gene. Lucky she left school when she did or we could have been next.

 _Fox:_ Yeah exactly. God, poor Finn. He’s so nice, she didn’t deserve him.

 _Jessica_ : She’s a psycho. I was there and witnessed the whole thing. She had to be pulled off him.

 _Connor_ : Yeah, Clarke just kept punching him. It was like she was possessed.

 _Zoe:_ Clarke was always so quiet in school. I can’t imagine her doing that. She’s a nice girl.

 _Jessica:_ A nice girl? Zoe, she’s a fucking killer.

 _Zoe:_ She hasn’t killed anyone.

 _Jessica:_ Yet. She will. Just look at the news everyday, see what carriers like her are doing.

 _Trina_ : I feel bad for Josephine. They’ve been best friends for so long. I heard she tried to stay friends with her but Clarke wasn’t having any of it.

 _Sterling:_ What about Finn? His girlfriend just went insane on him over nothing. It’s him I feel bad for.

 _Zoe:_ Was it really over nothing?

 _Connor:_ Yeah, we were all just standing outside talking and Clarke just took into hitting him.

 _Fox:_ She can’t just get away with that!

 _Trina_ : She won’t. Finn, Jo and some of the others reported her yesterday.

* * *

Polis becomes a weird but normal routine for Clarke.

She wakes up, goes to school, occupies herself most of the day unless they have assignments to do and then comes home.

At lunch, she sits with Monty and they talk about everything and anything. Clarke learns that he’s super intelligent, a shame that he’s wasted in a place like this. Carrier or not, the world is missing out on his ideas and brains by not employing him anywhere else than his mom’s store. Raven has also warmed up a little bit to Clarke. She returned _Wanheda_ to her after finishing it in record speed and also gave her another book in gratitude for lending it to her in the first place. Raven is also seriously smart and a bit of a badass. She would have definitely ended up working for the military or NASA, had life been more kind.

The strangest friendship Clarke has formed is with Murphy. In any other circumstances, Clarke isn’t sure they’d get along. He’s abrasive and sarcastic, almost like he goes out of his way to be unlikeable. Yet, Clarke can sense that deep down, he’s a good person. As the days go on, his passing comments and jokes actually start to make her smile and they’ve somehow fallen into the habit of carpooling. Murphy collects her first in the morning and then goes on to get Raven before school. He drops them home in the reverse order.

A month ago, Clarke could never have imagined herself alone in a car with carriers. After Bellamy came for her a week ago, though, the thought doesn’t seem to bother her anymore. It’s not like she’d jump into a car with Dax or Mbege, but the others, they’re good people. _Her_ people, now.

Since the assignment on Monday, Bellamy hasn’t spoken much to her. He definitely seems to be keeping his distance but Clarke knows that he’s noticed her becoming more friendly with the others in the class. She catches him glancing at her when she’s eating with Monty or leaving for home with Raven and Murphy. He told her not to trust any carrier but if he talks to them, why can’t she?

The entire week is completely normal. Clarke actually feels like things are looking up. She has closed the door on Finn and Josephine and _that_ life, determined to look ahead from now on. She never thought she’d be happier in her “carrier” school than with her old group of companions. Even her parents have commented on her adapting well with the change.

Bellamy strolls in on Friday morning, late as usual and gives Clarke a nod as he sits down. It’s the most he ever does since his warning to her last Friday — the one that said that he wouldn’t be helping her anymore. Still, Clarke accepts the action because he could be completely ignoring her.

She scrawls lines on her sketchpad, aching to finish off her drawing of Bellamy on the previous page. He’s wearing a muscle fit t-shirt today, exposing his forearms. Her eyes drift to the veins there and follow them up to his biceps that move as he finds the page he wants in his book. She hates that he’s this attractive. It shouldn’t be allowed. The way he pulls at his bottom lip when he starts to focus makes Clarke snap her eyes away because she’s starting to think about inappropriate things — like how those lips would feel on hers. He basically told her that he wasn’t going to be there for her, as an acquaintance or a friend or otherwise, yet it doesn’t stop Clarke lusting after him like a moth to a flame.

Her attention is pulled by the Skybox door opening. Maybe it's an office aid bringing another assignment. When Alie and Diana Sydney walk in, though, Clarke’s mouth goes dry. That day in her office, Diana told Clarke that she wouldn’t see her unless there was a problem. She’s _here_. That means there’s a problem with Clarke or Bellamy, considering they’re both her responsibility.

Almost simultaneously, she and Bellamy snap their gaze to one another. Clarke narrows her eyes like a question, wordlessly asking if he’s done anything to bring Diana here. He shakes his head subtly, just enough for Clarke to see it. Her heart is thumping. Why is Diana at Polis, then?

Alie exchanges a few words with Cage, mumbling quietly. It’s Diana that holds Clarke’s attention, though. She’s positioned herself in front of the Skybox gate, arms crossed and her eyes set on Clarke.

There’s no doubt anymore: they’re here for _her_. Clarke’s body freezes, panic rising up in her throat. What the hell? She hasn’t done anything wrong, except missing curfew last Friday. There’s no way they could know that, though. If they did, they’d be looking at Bellamy now too. It occurs to her that Clarke could have gotten Bellamy into trouble that night. Two carriers, out past curfew. He would have an allowance for work, a letter of some sort. It wouldn’t have explained him in that neighbourhood, though.

“Clarke,” Diana calls into the Skybox, crooking her finger and beckoning her out.

She swallows. Alie and Cage are both looking at her now, their posture as stiff as their expressions. Clarke hesitates a little before rising from her chair, her nerves practically fizzling in the silence of the room. Everything is eerie. Too quiet.

Before she can get a foot out though, the screech of Bellamy’s chair shatters the silence in the place. He’s on his feet in two seconds flat, grabbing her arm to stop her. Clarke looks at him but he’s still facing forward. He doesn’t spare her a glance.

_What is he doing?_

“Mr. Blake?” Alie projects.

Bellamy says nothing, his eyes set on Diana in front of the cage gate. His fingers are curled around Clarke’s wrist, holding her in place. Her skin is tingling under his touch and her whole body starts to tremble. Not from his action, more for why his action seems necessary. He’s stopping her from going with them.

“Bellamy.” Clarke tries to tug herself away because they’re waiting for her but he doesn’t let up.

She can tell by his side profile that he’s on edge, the way his jaw is tensed, his eyes sharp. It’s the way he looked when he stood up for her with Dax. His body poured out authority and confidence. The only difference is that now, fear tinges his features.

Something is wrong.

“Mr. Blake,” Diana says sharply. “What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Bellamy echoes. “What do you want her for?”

As nervous as Clarke was, now she’s even worse. She’s breathless and a little dizzy. She knew seeing Diana here was a bad sign, but Bellamy’s reaction isn’t doing anything to soothe her. He said he wasn’t going to help her again — so why is he helping her now? Can he not stop himself from protecting her or is this just too serious for him to ignore?

“That’s none of your concern,” Diana announces. “Sit down.”

“Bellamy, I have to go.” Clarke tries moving her hand away again and this time, she draws his eye.

“ _Don’t_.”

That single word drives the stake of fear harder into her chest. She can feel her classmates eyes burning into their backs, all of them quieter than Clarke has ever known them to be.

Bellamy hardens his eyes and diverts his attention back to Diana. He moves his thumb across Clarke’s wrist, probably to calm her down because she’s shaking. It’s an intimate move for what they’re supposed to be to one another but Clarke welcomes it. She’s terrified.

“Bellamy, _sit down._ ” Alie steps forward. “Clarke is coming out either way.”

Clarke moves her eyes from them to Bellamy, watching how he cocks his chin up and tenses his shoulders. It’s like he’s preparing for a fight, like they can’t pry Clarke away from him without one. She doesn’t want that to happen. He’s already imprinted, what will they do to him for that kind of defiance?

She has to take a breath, pull herself together. Alie is right, they’ll get Clarke out of the cage no matter what and Bellamy doesn’t need to be collateral damage.

“Bellamy, it’s okay,” she tells him, surprised at how steady her voice is. He snaps his eyes to hers, panic obvious in the centre of them. “I got this. It’ll be fine.”

“Clarke.”

She smiles, forced. “Really, it’s probably nothing.”

They both know it’s not. They’re pulling her out of class. She’s not sure what they want her for but she imagines that it’s serious. Maybe they’ve decided to send her somewhere else. The thought makes her throat tighten. She’s just gotten used to Polis, grown accustomed to the carriers here.

She feels Bellamy loosen his fingers and she slips her arm away, missing the contact immediately. His form is still coiled tight, those dark eyes pressing on her as she gathers up her things. He’s worried.

“It’s fine,” she assures him once more before stepping toward the cage door.

Diana barely looks at her as she passes by, her gaze still sharp on Bellamy like he might snap at any second. Clarke glances back over her shoulder before they guide her out the door. Bellamy is still standing, shifting from one foot to the other like he’s dying to break out after her. He’s chewing his bottom lip, his eyes dark like he’s watching Clarke being escorted out by monsters.

Maybe she is.

* * *

Diana hands Clarke off to a man waiting by a navy, nondescript van. She barely gets a second to process what’s going on when the man grabs her by her forearm, forcing her inside. She hadn’t been resisting, just hesitant, so she really didn’t see the need for him manhandling her like a rag doll.

“Where are we going?” Clarke presses.

The man just laughs, mean and taunting. He bangs the doors shut, leaving Clarke with her heart thumping wildly inside her chest as she looks around. Wire mesh separates her from the front of the van where Diana is now sitting, flicking through a file on her lap. Probably Clarke’s one.

“Does my mother —”

“We don’t need to contact your parents for this,” Diana hums off like she’s bored.

For _this_? What is _this?_

“You told me you wouldn’t see me unless there was a problem,” Clarke reminds her.

This time, Diana doesn’t answer her, she just keeps reading through the file in front of her casually. What the hell do they want her for? The man that “helped” her inside the van gets into the driver's seat, the back of his short red hair the only thing visible to Clarke from her position.

They’re all quiet as they pull out of Polis. It only takes about five minutes for Clarke to realise that they’re not heading towards Diana’s office, where she thought they’d be going to talk. The sinking sensation she had in her stomach only gets heavier because Bellamy was right to be worried. Something is really wrong here. 

Clarke reaches inside her bag and fishes out her phone, hiding it from view as she types a message to her mother. She’s only half way through, telling her mom that Diana has her and she doesn’t know where she’s going, when the driver's voice makes her jump.

“ _Hey_! What are you doing?”

“Damn it.” Diana peers over her shoulder. “Pull over, Emerson.”

Clarke’s body swerves as Emerson stops the van. She hurries to push send and hopes her mother understands what she’s saying. Emerson gets out quickly, yanking the back door open and snatching her phone from her fingers.

“She texted her mother,” Emerson tells Diana.

“That’s fine. Doesn’t matter,” Diana replies but Clarke wonders what the rush was to take her phone, then. Who could she have text? She wishes she had their number.

“I want to call my mom,” Clarke says anxiously. “I have rights. You can’t just pull me out of school and —”

“We can and no, you _don’t_ have rights,” Emerson tells her hotly, slamming the van door closed.

“She doesn’t get it,” Diana mutters once Emerson is back in the driver's seat, the disinterest obvious in her tone.

“They’re a disease to the world,” Emerson grits out, starting the van and pulling back out onto the road. “They’re lucky to even get to walk the streets.”

Clarke can feel the anger building in her chest at the two of them talking about her like she’s not here, like she’s half a person. She feels like a stray dog picked up off the street, trapped in the back of a van on the way to the pound.

As trees and countryside start to blur past them, Clarke wonders if she should have messaged Thelonious. Her mother hasn’t been able to help with anything else, refused to open her mouth for her. What can she do now? At least her stepfather tried to buy her way out of it.

After about half an hour of driving, they pull up outside a white building. There are no people there and Clarke can only count three windows at the front. The door is made of glass, official and clean like a hotel entrance. Yet, there’s nothing recreational about it. The whole place screams government. Clarke thinks that Polis high school looks better and that is saying something.

Emerson opens the back of the van and heaves her out of it, squeezing her arm so tight that Clarke knows he’ll leave bruises. Diana walks on ahead, her heels clicking off the concrete as she steps closer to the building’s entrance.

“Come on.” Emerson yanks her forward.

“I can walk by myself,” Clarke says, trying to pull her arm away but he doesn’t let up. In fact, he sinks his fingers in tighter, making her hiss.

“Shut up.”

“You like roughing up girls?” Clarke argues, fighting against him. She’s not sure where the attitude comes from, maybe fear. “Do you have HTS too?”

“Nope.” Emerson doesn’t look at her, pulling her towards the building after Diana. “My test came back clean.”

Clarke actually laughs. “Of course. Someone like you is clean even though you seem to _enjoy_ this.” She tugs her arm away from him once more, proving her point when he pulls her back roughly. “Meanwhile, I apparently have this gene that makes me violent, even though I’ve never hurt someone in my goddamn life.”

“Ha,” Emerson barks. “That’s funny. What are you doing here, then?”

_What?_

Clarke tries to keep her footing steady as she gets dragged into the building, her eyes darting everywhere for something to tell her what Emerson means. What is she doing here? What is this place?

Diana is talking to a receptionist behind the counter, scribbling some signatures onto a stack of papers against a clipboard but Clarke can’t really hear what they’re saying. She is kept a few feet back, Emerson still holding onto her like a vice grip. From what she can gather from the conversation, it’s just pleasantries, like Diana is here all the time.

“A girl.” The receptionist nods at Clarke. “We don’t see many of them here.”

“Don’t let her gender fool you,” Diana says. “She’s as dangerous as the rest of them.”

“Of course,” the receptionist says. “We’ll take all the necessary precautions.”

A pit of dread cracks open in Clarke’s stomach. _Why is she here?_

Diana and Emerson escort her into a room that reminds Clarke of a dentist’s office. There’s a lounge type chair in the centre that doesn’t look relaxing at all, straps and buckles hanging from it. There’s a work station behind it and Clarke’s eyes are drawn to the tattoo gun and a strange kind of calm comes over her. She understands instantly what’s happening. Bellamy knew too, knew the procedure because he holds the same mark as she soon will.

“What did I do?” she mutters as the door closes behind her.

Diana flicks open her file, clearing her throat. “Last Friday evening, several witnesses signed a statement alleging you assaulted someone.”

Clarke blinks. _Assault?_

“Who did I assault?”

Diana glances down again. “Mr. Finn Collins.”

A dreamlike state falls over her momentarily. Her mind floats back to the party, the slap that echoed in the air in front of Josephine’s house. An instinctual act that came from a place of hate and betrayal. This is where it’s brought her.

Finn, the others at the party… _they reported her._

Clarke’s fight or flight instincts kick in and she whirls around, making a bolt for the door but Emerson grabs her, heaving her over towards the chair. She struggles against him, digging her heels into the ground.

“No, please. You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Emerson growls.

“No, you don’t. It wasn’t like that. He was —” she stammers, fighting against his strength as he forces her onto the leather prison. “He said —”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Diana clicks her tongue at her. “This is happening whether you like it or not. I warned you in my office that —”

“So this is the way it is?” Clarke roars, the panic inside of her fuelling her volume. “I don’t get a right to explain? A right to fight my corner and tell my side of the story?”

Emerson fastens the strap closed around her wrist. “Did you not hear me in the van? You don’t have rights.”

Clarke squeals as he moves onto the second wrist strap, struggling like hell to get out. They can’t do this. She shouldn’t have slapped Finn but she doesn’t deserve this, to be pinned to a chair like an animal and branded against her will. Bellamy flashes through her mind and she wonders if he was restrained like this. She imagines that it took more than one man to strap him down.

Thinking of him, she finds a newfound strength and thrashes wildly against the lounge chair. Her back arches as she cries out, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Emerson slams a large hand over her knee, pressing it down against the chair so he can strap her ankle.

“You can’t do this,” she screams.

“Yes we can,” Diana says calmly from her seat by the door, scanning Clarke’s file like she’s bored. “Haven’t you been keeping up with the news? Pike’s Agency is about to go federal.”

“We are being given more power, more responsibility,” Emerson grunts as he finishes the strap on her second ankle, completely securing her to the chair. “We’re going to be bigger than the CIA. There’ll be carrier prisons in every state. Your kind won’t be allowed to run riot any longer.”

Clarke’s chest heaves out her breaths, her eyes darting as anxiety rises within her. She thinks she’s going to be sick.

Just then, the door swings open and a tall man in green scrubs steps inside. He has a couple of tattoos on his arms but his neck is free of any mark. At least his tattoos were consensual. 

“Good morning,” he mumbles to Diana and Emerson, avoiding Clarke’s gaze altogether.

He washes his hands in the sink before pulling over a stool beside Clarke’s chair, fiddling with the work station behind her. He flicks a switch and a buzzing vibrates through the room, the tattoo gun coming to life.

“Please,” Clarke whispers. “Don’t do this.”

The man finally looks at her and for a moment, hope flickers in her chest. He looks sympathetic, hesitant.

“Ignore her, Gabriel,” Diana mutters.

“She attacked a boy, unprovoked,” Emerson adds, taking a seat beside Diana now that his work is done.

“It wasn’t unprovoked,” Clarke argues. It wasn’t okay. She knows that. But damn it, it wasn’t like Finn was out minding his own business and she lunged at him.

Gabriel sits beside her, his eyes scanning her face. She knows he doesn’t want to do this. His face looks pained, like he’s here against his will too.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Diana asks. “You’re not the only one around that we can —”

“No,” Gabriel says over his shoulder, his back to that wretched woman. “There’s no problem.”

Clarke knows then. They have something over him. He’s trying to survive, like she is. He busies himself, soaking a square piece of cloth with some kind of strong-smelling antiseptic. He wipes down the side of her neck and if there was ever a doubt of what was going to happen here, it’s gone now.

“Please,” Clarke whimpers, trying one last time.

Gabriel brushes her hair to the side, leaning in close as he places a circular device over her neck.

“I know you’re scared,” he murmurs, low enough for only her to hear. “Just try to stay still.”

It’s the compassion in his voice that makes tears spring to Clarke’s eyes. Her breathing is laboured and she grips the side of the chair, feeling the soft leather underneath her. The device cracks open like a set of jaws and locks around her neck with a click. Panic blocks her lungs, suffocating her. It’s too tight, too foreign. She gasps loudly, feeling claustrophobic.

“I know,” Gabriel whispers, running a hand over her hair soothingly.

A sob falls out of her mouth. She’s completely trapped. Her wrists and ankles pull against her restraints and she can’t move her neck at all, not without pain.

“Just breathe,” Gabriel encourages as he twists a knob on his work station, increasing the vibrations of the tattoo gun. “I know it feels tight but I promise, you can breathe.”

Clarke takes a shallow breath and Gabriel gives her a gentle smile, nodding.

“See? There you go.”

Clarke grabs onto the kindness he’s giving her, wishing it were enough to stop this from happening.

“Try not to struggle. You don’t want a smudged imprint,” he says.

“I don’t want it at all,” she cracks out.

Gabriel pauses, glancing over his shoulder before speaking again.

“I’m sorry, believe me,” he whispers, positioning the tattoo gun over her neck. “Close your eyes. Think of something nice.”

And so, Clarke thinks of Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW:** Clarke is held down in this chapter and marked against her will. It's meant to read as uncomfortable because it's an awful thing to happen to her. Hopefully I succeeded with that atmosphere and if it's not something you want to read, you can totally skip it.
> 
> For those of you interested in seeing what the imprints look like, check out the [fanart](https://underbellamy.tumblr.com/post/627358217549299712/bellarke-fanfiction-dedication-i-found-peace-in) that Bri (@underbellamy) made for this fic to really get a good visual.
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	8. Sun on My Back and It's Rising on You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my favourite to have written to date. I'm so excited for you all to read it as we dive right into the thick of bellarke.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Pull Me Up - Kwassa

* * *

**Article 13B of the Pike Act:**

Imprinting falls under the purview of the State. No civilians or local police agencies may impede a representative operating at the behest of the HTS Agency.

* * *

The ride back feels shorter than the trip to the imprinting building. Clarke is lying down in the back of the van as the road vibrates underneath, staring at the driver's seat in front of her.

Everything is a blur.

She remembers the buzzing of the tattoo gun and red hot pain. A movie scream echoed around the room, apparently coming from her. She never knew she could make that noise.

Images of Bellamy swirled inside her head, his condescending smirk and those deep brown eyes that hold a good person underneath, even if he tried hard to keep it hidden. She tried to focus on the way his fingers curled around her wrist, trying to protect her from this fate. It was better than concentrating on the way the tattoo gun pricked her skin, leaving a mark there that would exist forever.

She thought of Bellamy’s deep voice when Gabriel lifted her up from the chair, rubbing some ointment on her neck. He wrapped it in clear plastic as Clarke thought about Bellamy handing her _Wanheda_. As Diana and Emerson carried her back out to the van, she thought of the vulnerable look on Bellamy's face as they took her away. He's protected her from the very beginning and now, he's protected her with this. Because if she didn't have him to think about, she's not sure how she would have survived. He's protecting her without even trying.

Gabriel must have known that she'd need something to hang onto. She just didn't realise what that would be until that moment. Bellamy got her through that. She’s not ashamed to admit it.

She was given aftercare instructions but Gabriel’s voice felt like it was coming through cotton. She thinks he gave her some aspirin too, which is probably aiding her emotional numbness now.

The van stops and Clarke assumes she’s home. She doubts that they would bring her back to school, although there’s seemingly no end to their cruelness. Her hand is trembling as she lifts it to the side of her neck, feeling the film over her mark. She won’t cry anymore, desperate to hold onto whatever little pride she has left.

Emerson and Diana help her out, an arm over each of their shoulders. It surprises her when her mother charges out before they reach the front door, still in her navy scrubs but pale in her face. She has her phone in her hand, probably after making a million phone calls to find out where her daughter is. Guess she got Clarke’s text.

“What the hell happened?” her mother demands before her sight falls on her neck. She puts two and two together quite quickly. Her eyes darken. “ _You had no right_.”

“We had every right,” Diana says simply.

“You’ll be hearing from our lawyer,” her mother threatens, struggling to hold Clarke up as she wraps her arms around her. Clarke is aching to cry at the contact but she won’t. She won’t let them see that this has broken her.

“Spend your money on all the fancy lawyers you like,” Emerson all but laughs. “It won’t make a difference. Your daughter committed assault. We are obligated to imprint her.”

“Mom,” Clarke croaks, her throat tight. “Stop.”

For the first time ever, Abby Griffin looks like she could break down. Clarke just wants to be away from these people, secure in her room where nobody can see her. There’s nothing that can be done. This has happened. There’s no undoing it.

Her mother’s eyes scan her, like she’s wondering why the hell Clarke doesn’t want to fight this anymore. It’s easy. She understands now. Understands how the _game_ is played.

“Aftercare instructions,” Diana says, handing her mom a piece of paper.

“I’m a doctor,” her mother snaps. “I know how to look after her.”

“Do a better job, then,” Diana warns, sounding like she means it in a different way. Like if Abby knew how to _control_ her daughter, this wouldn’t have happened. “Next time, it will be a second offence.”

The threat lies heavy in the air as Diana and Emerson retreat to their van. Clarke’s lip stiffens as she watches them go, wondering if maybe there is some credit to this HTS crap because she’s wishing their vehicle crashes on their journey home. That has to be a violent tendency, right?

“Come on, honey.” Her mother helps Clarke into the house and thankfully, she gets that far before her legs buckle underneath her.

“Clarke!”

“I’m fine,” Clarke promises, her cheek against the hardwood floors of their hallway. “Just let me lie down.”

“Let’s get you to bed.” Her mom bends down, still holding her arm.

“Mm,” Clarke hums, content to just exist here for the rest of her life.

“Abby.” Wells’ voice appears behind them.

He’s never here at this time. Her mother must have called everyone to come home. Clarke feels herself smiling, her head floating a little. She considers that maybe Gabriel gave her something stronger than aspirin.

“What the fuck?”

Wells bends down, smoothing Clarke’s hair out of her eyes. There’s a blur of conversation around her but Clarke pays no heed. She can hear herself breathing, focusing on only that sound. Nothing disturbs her until she feels a pair of arms underneath her, lifting her up the stairs. Wells holds her against him, mumbling something about Pike’s Agency not getting away with this.

_They already have._

“You’re such a good brother.” Clarke slaps him lightly on his face.

“Is she high?” Wells asks her mother who is following them up the stairs.

“They must have given her something,” her mom replies.

“What are we going to do about this?”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

“Bullshit, Abby!”

“Let’s just wait until your father gets home.”

The bed is soft underneath Clarke, her purple bedroom familiar and comforting. Her mother is draping a blanket over her while Wells is pacing.

“They imprinted her,” he hisses.

“I know,” her mom mutters, stroking Clarke’s hair.

“Why?”

Her mother shakes her head, signalling that she doesn't know. It takes a second for Clarke to force the words out because even moving her lips feels like too much effort. They come out in a mumble and she's not certain that they even make sense in format or sequence. “I slapped Finn.”

“ _Clarke_.” Her mother sounds appalled.

“He was being a dick. Or thinking with one. Or both.” Clarke giggles, her eyes growing as heavy as her tongue.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Wells growls.

Clarke lets out a low laugh. “Maybe you have HTS.”

“Abby, how could you let them do this?” Wells cracks and when Clarke glances at him, she notices how glassy his eyes are.

This sobers her. Wells never cries. Not when he got in trouble at school, not when Thelonious expressed his extreme disappointment in him for not taking a job at his office, not ever. The smirk slips from her expression and as numb as she's feeling, Clarke suddenly wants to cry as well.

“They took her,” her mother replies. “I didn’t know what was happening.”

“So nobody tried to help her?” Wells shouts, tears escaping down his cheeks.

“Bellamy did,” Clarke murmurs but tiredness is pulling at her.

Her body feels like it weighs a tonne, pulling her downwards into her mattress. She blinks at the paintings around her room, picturing her curly haired protector as she looks at the Princess with the crown on her head and the knight by her side.

“Who’s Bellamy?” Wells asks.

A door slams downstairs, followed by a loud voice bellowing up the stairs. “ _Abby_!”

Thelonious is home.

The bed lifts as her mother rises from it and sooner than Clarke would have liked, her room is silent, void of anybody but herself. She curls up into a ball in her bed, too numb to cry or feel anger or pain. She just lies there, adapting to yet another change her life has taken.

She’s gone from a girl who could hide her HTS status to a monster recognised by all.

* * *

Clarke drifts in and out of sleep, the weight of whatever medication she was given by Gabriel pulling her under. The first time she wakes, her mother is sitting at the side of her bed. Clarke looks at her with heavy eyes, spotting the bowl of soup in her hand.

“You need to eat something,” her mom encourages.

Clarke turns over to face her window with a groan, a verbal signal that she just wants to be left alone.

“I need to check your neck,” her mother murmurs, rubbing soft circles on Clarke’s back.

“No,” Clarke mumbles. “I just want to sleep.”

To her credit, her mom leaves her be and Clarke lets sleep suck her back in. It’s dreamless for the most part, except for the sound of a buzzing gun and a shrill scream.

The next time she wakes, it’s Wells that’s shaking her. Morning light is seeping in through her curtains and she snaps her eyes shut again, an ache in her head that feels too much like a hangover.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I need to remove your gauze.”

She pulls her blanket up over her head, grunting her refusal at him. There’s no way anyone is touching her neck. She doesn’t want to look at that mark herself, let alone for anyone else to look at it.

Wells tugs the covers back down. “Clarke. The aftercare instructions say that —”

“I don’t care,” Clarke mutters.

“It’s going to get infected if —”

“ _Wells_!” Clarke shouts, startling both herself and her stepbrother. She glances over her shoulder, grabbing the blanket back from him and covering herself once more. “Nobody is touching my neck.”

A delicate silence falls in her bedroom. She should feel bad for yelling at the only member of her family that has treated her normally since this whole thing started, but she can’t. All she can feel is despair.

Wells must leave soon after because she hears her door clicking closed. Clarke breathes out a long breath, squeezing her eyes shut again. Shame fizzles under her skin and her chest feels like someone is sitting on it. Memories of the marking haunt her, float around the air that she's breathing until she finally drifts off again.

This time, she dreams of a dark haired man with his hand on her wrist, refusing to let them take her. In her mind, Bellamy puts her in his rover and whisks her off to safety, to a place where no-one burns a tattoo onto her neck. To a place where she’s not a danger to the general public, to a place where she can show her face and nobody knows what she is without someone saying that she has the HTS gene.

During the day, her mother tries to change her gauze several times. She tries to be nice, praising and bribing her like Clarke is a child that just won’t take her medicine. Afterwards, her patience grows short and it results in her mother slamming her bedroom door, frustrated that her daughter is being so difficult.

Clarke doesn’t care, nobody is taking off her gauze. Nobody is looking at that awful mark.

Being a Saturday, it means everyone is home from work and everyone gets to take a turn in trying to help her. Her mother seemed to be the bravest out of all of them, pushing Clarke the most. Wells only tried twice, not fond of getting yelled at by her. Clarke remembers Thelonious sticking his head around her door at one point, asking her vaguely if she’d let him treat her neck. He seemed nervous, like he didn’t want to upset her. When she told him no, he left just as quick. She knows it’s hard for him to see her like that.

As the sun is setting low in the sky, her neck feels itchy. It burns underneath her gauze but she can’t bring herself to remove it. Infection is no motivator. She just can’t look at it, can’t accept that she has it. Despite the heat on her throat, she feels cold. Goosebumps rise on her arms and shivers, not even having the energy to pull a cover over her. She idly wonders if it matters if she wakes up in the morning. A dramatic thought but one she doesn’t exactly know what she’s living for anymore. No future. No hope.

She turns onto her side, numb to everything. As her room grows dark, she flicks on her bedside lamp to create a soft hue around her. She focuses on the light and tries to picture the exact moment that the one inside of her was extinguished.

“Clarke?”

Her mother’s voice is on the other side of the door, a gentle knock following it.

“No,” Clarke answers flatly. There’s no volume to it, just a word she’s bored of saying. They’re not taking off the gauze.

“Clarke, someone is here to see you.”

This catches her attention. All of her old friends betrayed her and she has no one left to care about her outside of her family. Who would come to her house to see her? There’s a moment where fear strikes her, wondering if it’s Diana Sydney coming to do something else to her. That doubt is squashed straight away when her mother creaks open her door.

Bellamy Blake stands beside her mother at the entrance, a complete unit next to her mom’s tiny frame. Clarke leans up on her elbow, staring at him. He looks foreign here in her house, his long curls creating a shadow over his eyes. He’s wearing a dark jacket zipped up to his throat and a concerned expression on his face.

Clarke feels herself blush under the heat of his gaze, studying her from where he stands with his hands in his pockets. He steps inside her room at the same time as she sits up, the sudden movement making her head spin. She has to close her eyes for a second and breathe through her nose, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Her body hasn’t been upright since she came home yesterday.

“You alright?”

His deep voice distracts her from the itch on her neck, the deep tone creating an itch somewhere else — one she didn’t realise she _needed_ to scratch until now.

She stands, stepping across her bedroom past Bellamy. Her mother has that look on her face, that one that she gets when she has something to say and she just doesn’t know how to word it. Clarke knows what it is. There’s a marked carrier in her daughter's bedroom. For the first time since getting imprinted, Clarke wants to laugh because fuck, there are _two_ marked carrier’s in her daughters bedroom right now.

“It’s fine, mom,” Clarke tells her.

She knows it is. Her mother is obviously the one who let Bellamy come up here. She must be desperate. With that, Clarke closes the door tight, giving her privacy with Bellamy. Normally, she’s not allowed to close the door with a boy in her room but nothing is normal anymore, is it?

She swallows thickly, beads of sweat forming on her forehead — probably due to her unclean tattoo. Or maybe it’s because she’s on her own with Bellamy, in her bedroom. It sets her heart racing and it’s not because of fear.

When she turns around, Bellamy is running his fingertips over the princess drawing on her wall. He looks back at her over his shoulder, a smirk on his face because well, isn’t that what he calls her? She unsuccessfully bites back a smirk of her own, sharing in the irony. Leave it to him to make her smile in these circumstances.

He continues taking in the rest of her room, skimming his hand over her furniture before he sits down. Once on her chair, his eyes pause on her sketchbook, open on the adjacent vanity. _Shit._ The drawing of him stares back at him and he looks at her before he picks it up, a question in his eyes. “ _You did this?”_

Clarke holds her hands behind her back, leaning against her bedroom door. He’s seen it now, there’s no use in hiding it. She opens her mouth to offer an explanation but nothing comes, she doesn’t exactly have one. Drawing him, it’s therapeutic. It’s not something that can be spoken about with words.

He clears his throat as his eyes rake over the drawing, taking in all the details.

“ _Clarke_.”

She looks down at her feet, ignoring the blush on her cheeks. It’s hard not to feel embarrassed, especially when Bellamy is staring at the most intimate part of her. Art is how she lives in this world, how she expresses herself, calms herself. It’s saying something when _he’s_ the only thing she can draw lately. Still, she clenches her teeth and looks up, determined to remain aloof.

Bellamy blows out a breath, shaking his head as he studies the sketch. “You weren’t kidding when you said you create _art_.”

She shrugs haphazardly. “It’s nothing.”

If the way he looks at her is anything to go by, he doesn’t agree. “Can I have it then?”

“It’s not done, I still have to finish your…” she trails off, about to go into elaborate detail about his lips. “Yeah, you know what, go ahead.”

Bellamy tears the paper out of the sketchbook, folding it carefully and places it in the pocket of his jacket. It’s quiet for a long moment, Bellamy watching her like it’s nothing and Clarke looking away like it’s everything.

“You knew,” she states, shattering the silence in the room. “It’s why you tried to stop me from leaving with them.”

He leans his head to the side, biting the inside of his lip. “I had a feeling. They don’t take you out of class for nothing.”

“Is that how it happened with yours?” she asks, glancing to his mark that is barely obscured by the collar of his jacket.

Bellamy doesn’t respond to that, looking down like he’s being transported to somewhere else. When he looks back up at her, he’s prepared a new subject. He nods at her neck, his hands back in his pockets as he twists on her swivel chair.

“You should have cleaned that by now.”

Clarke pushes off her door, rolling her eyes as she walks past him towards her bed. It’s hard to stay standing. He turns on the chair, following her movements.

“What? You gonna leave it until it gets infected? Die?” he quirks an eyebrow at him, that stupid smirk on his lips. She appreciates him trying to keep this light and humorous, not treating her like she's made of glass.

Clarke gives him a pointed look as she sits down on her mattress. “Really? You’re gonna be that dramatic?”

He shrugs. “I mean, why not? Let them win. One less carrier to worry about, right?”

“Sounds about right,” she plays along, not giving in.

Bellamy glares at her for a moment before standing up, moving to the door of her adjoining bathroom and flicking on the light.

“You? Making things easy on someone, Princess?” he says as he comes back, dragging her vanity chair into the bathroom. “Where was this Clarke in school?”

She tongues the inside of her lip to stop her smile from widening. Once he has the chair placed in front of the mirror in there, he leans his palms against the back of it.

“Get in here,” he orders, no real edge to it.

Clarke hesitates, tears suddenly springing to her eyes. It’s hitting her that she’s going to eventually have to look at it, _live with it_. Her chest burns as that sinks in, knowing she can never be rid of this mark, that people will judge her on sight — the same way she judged Bellamy, wondered what was wrong with him, how dangerous he was. Trying to keep the smile on her face does nothing to allude Bellamy of the fact that she’s starting to cry. His eyes crack when he realises.

“I don’t want to see it,” Clarke admits pathetically, a sad smile on her face and droplets falling down her cheeks.

Bellamy comes out of her bathroom, crossing the room so he can crouch down in front of her. It’s a different side of Bellamy on show when he takes her wrist into his hand, running his thumb along her arm. Clarke thinks her heart has stopped for good.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Look at me.”

Clarke lifts her head, locking eyes with him.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. This wasn’t on you, it was _them_ ,” he tells her with such conviction, such belief that more tears fall from her eyes. “ _They_ did this. So you show them what they did. Wear it like a battle scar and don’t let anyone or anything tell you who you are, especially not a shit tattoo or the people that put it there.”

Clarke’s cheeks are burning hot and her arm tingles from where Bellamy touches her. She understands him a little more in that moment, sees him as someone who is powered by his chest. He’s all heart and passion and though his head told him to back off, the rest of him pushed him forward because it’s in his nature to be a protector. And he’s here, looking after Clarke now in a time where nobody else could.

He’s right. This isn’t her fault. She didn’t deserve this and she certainly shouldn’t be ashamed of them hurting her against her will.

She manages a nod and Bellamy nods back, like both of them are silently agreeing to something. Maybe to defy all odds, to never be crushed by Pike and his HTS gene, to continue being the people they are and not be defined by a test result.

He stands, taking Clarke with him as he pulls her up gently. She’s so focused on her hand still in his as he leads her into the bathroom that she isn’t worried about him removing the gauze anymore. She misses the contact of his fingers when he pulls them away, settling her in front of the mirror. The swivel chair she’s sitting on doesn’t feel solid enough to support her so she has to wrap her fingers around the edge of her porcelain sink, absorbing the cold into her skin. There’s aftercare materials left on the side of it from her mother’s futile attempts to help her.

“Ready?”

Clarke looks up, meeting Bellamy’s intense gaze in the mirror. “As I’ll ever be.”

He bends down, sweeping her hair from her neck. Clarke lets out an involuntary shiver at the contact, hoping he won’t notice. It’s how gentle he is that strikes her, odd coming from someone who is supposed to be so rough.

Finally looking at herself, Clarke can’t help but cringe. Her hair is limp against her head, no shine from the blonde at all. It looks about as lifeless as she feels. Her white vest top shows more of herself than she'd like, exposing every aspect of her misery. Her skin is paler than she's ever seen it. She hates that Bellamy is seeing her like this, a dishevelled ghost that has been thrown into the deep end of a life she had no time to prepare for.

Rusty streaks stain the gauze that he is peeling off and Clarke winces from the pull against her skin. Once it’s removed, she can see the side of her neck for what it is now. She swallows the lump in her throat, willing herself to keep her tears at bay. It felt impossible to face this before but now with Bellamy beside her, it’s doable. It just doesn’t make it easy.

There it is. Staring back at her in the mirror is what they did to her, marked forever against her will. Clarke inhales sharply, taking her reflection in. Even though everything else is the same, she thinks she looks like a totally different person with the imprint. A stranger. The black lines of the ‘D’ look thick, stark and bold against her pale skin. The circle around it is even thicker, taking up half of her neck. For some reason, she thought there would be much less ink. A waft of copper fills her nostrils, raw and nauseating, drawing her attention to the skin around the tattoo which is inflamed and angry red, a crust of yellow adding to the design.

She should have cleaned it and judging by Bellamy’s disapproving gaze as he studies it, he thinks so too. There’s another emotion in his eyes that she recognises far too easily. Anger. He’s pissed that this happened to her.

“It’s bigger than yours,” Clarke mumbles, observing his one on the side of his neck.

“It’s not,” Bellamy assures her, leaning over her to turn on the hot tap. His scent crowds her and another shiver rumbles up her spine. “It’s the same, your neck is just smaller.”

Clarke chews her lip, a silent disagreement. Her one looks huge, like they’ve changed the size just for her. Bellamy wets a washcloth that’s resting on her sink and wrings it out before placing it against her neck. She sighs quietly from the heat of it, soothing the itch in her skin.

“Be humble, Princess,” he teases, that familiar smirk on his face. “This isn’t a competition of size or anything. If it was, I’d win hands down.”

Clarke blushes, a giggle escaping her. She wonders how he can make her feel so at ease now when she would have feared someone like him before this diversion in her path.

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought of matching tattoos with a boy,” she quips.

He grins as he dabs the washcloth against her neck. “Well, we’re connected for life now.”

It’s a joke, Clarke knows it is. Yet, she can’t explain why this makes her feel better about the imprint, why that simple sentence makes her heart pound. It makes it easier to look at it, knowing that she can see his mark while staring at her own. Bellamy has become such an integral part of her support system during all of this, even if he didn’t want to be. He’s an infinite thought and a constant strength.

The washcloth rubs against a sore spot and Clarke jumps, hissing out through her teeth and forgetting her train of thought.

“Sorry,” Bellamy says quickly, pulling it away.

He bends down on his hunkers, closer to her now than before. Clarke stare lingers on him in the mirror, observing how his eyebrows are knitted together as he examines her tattoo. His jacket swishes when he moves and there’s an intimacy in his eyes that makes her feel a little weak. His gaze drops, trailing down her bare arm. A burning heat erupts in Clarke's stomach, her breath catching in her chest as he looks at her. She turns her head to check his expression up close and it's then she realises _what_ he's looking at.

There are blooming bruises around her bicep, small ovals in the shape of fingermarks. _Emerson._

Bellamy's jaw ticks as he lifts his fingers, tracing gentle strokes over them. His touch is softer than Emerson's anyway. Goosebumps rise on her arms, following his finger like a magnet and her lungs have put a block on her oxygen supply. She doesn't dare move, terrified to disrupt this moment. Clarke can read anger in his eyes and notes how his nostrils flare slightly. He looks pissed, mixed in with something else. It takes a second for Clarke to realise that it's guilt.

"Bellamy."

He snaps his eyes up, fresh focus coming back to life in them. He sniffles a little and forces out a tight smile, taking the antiseptic off the sink and pouring a little onto the washcloth. She understands then. He's trying to be strong for her. His mask slipped though, his real feelings on the subject coming through. He places a finger under her chin and turns her back towards the mirror, giving him a better access point to her mark. She almost shivers at the contact. _Almost_. He presses the washcloth against her neck and Clarke hisses, the sour pain eroding its way through her entire throat.

Bellamy meets her eye in the mirror, taking her in. “You’ll recover.”

Clarke absorbs that. She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to all of this, get to a point where she’s okay with what they did to her life. “Will I?”

There’s a beat of silence as Bellamy gazes at her, pity and understanding simultaneously pouring from his eyes. She turns, facing him properly again instead of the mirror. He’s eye level with her and she’s thrown by the intimacy of having him so close. Maybe it’s this whole thing that’s connected them so quickly or maybe it’s something else. Either way, she knows she wouldn’t have survived any of this without him.

A sudden, desperate thought strikes her.

“We could run.”

“What?” Bellamy whispers, his eyes tightening.

“You and me,” Clarke clarifies. “Screw everybody else. Let’s just go.”

Bellamy concentrates on her face and in that moment, Clarke knows he’s tempted. It seems logic wins out though, details Clarke should have thought about coming out of his mouth like a rehearsal.

“Clarke,” he says. “We’re in the national registry. Where would we go? What would we do?”

She looks down at where her hands are clasped together, worries her lip.

“Where would we work? They screen for everything,” Bellamy continues. “We can’t hide from this.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, turning back to face the mirror.

It was a stupid idea. How far would they get anyway without Raven or Monty’s brains? Without Murphy’s wit?

Bellamy stands up straight, putting distance between them. He fumbles with the washcloth between his fingers. She hates the quiet that resides in the bathroom with them now, threatening the delicate friendship they’ve built in the past hour. It evaporates when Bellamy places his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Clarke exhales all the tension in her chest, leaning into his touch with greater ease than expected.

“We’ll be okay. We just have to stick together.”

“Thought we were in this alone? No allies?” Clarke flicks her eyes up to him, echoing his words from last week. “That it’s a weakness?”

“You’re not the only one that has impulses to run from things, Princess,” he says, getting back to tending to her neck.

A hot flash burns through her at his words, an ache erupting in her stomach because she’s desperate to ask what he means. It seems like too big of a question though and she’s not sure what she’d do with the answer right now. Not in this fragile state.

Bellamy is applying ointment to her neck when he speaks again. “So. What horrendous crime did you commit to _deserve_ this?”

Clarke’s mouth presses into a tight line, shame filling up inside her chest. She might not have done something so terrible to deserve a forced, ugly mark on her neck but she’s not proud of her actions either. She should have had more control, more decorum.

“Um, do you remember when you picked me up last week?”

Bellamy glances at her in the mirror as he dabs at her skin, nodding.

“I told you I broke up with my boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says warily, like he’s afraid of where this is going. “You said you walked off by yourself and his pansy ass just let you.”

“Not my exact words.” Clarke smirks. “But yeah.” She hesitates, picking at her thumbnail. “Well, we had an argument before that and…” She closes her eyes, unable to look at Bellamy when she says it. “I slapped him.”

“Why?” Bellamy asks, no judgement in his tone.

“He was just being a dick.”

He stops applying the ointment, locking eyes with her in the reflection. “Why, Clarke?”

There’s an authority to his tone that she recognises from several previous altercations. She won’t get away with playing this off, with not admitting why she did such a foul thing. She sighs.

“Finn thought I should have fallen graciously into bed with him while I had the chance.” Clarke shrugs, gesturing to her tattoo. “Because who else will want me? Especially now, right?”

They stare at each other for a long minute, neither of them saying anything. A fire has started in Bellamy’s eyes but he masks it quickly, looking away and refocusing his attention back to her imprint. There’s a tick in his jaw that can’t be ignored though and if his mouth wasn’t shut tight, Clarke is sure she would see his teeth clenched.

“He reported you.”

It’s not a question so Clarke doesn’t answer, she just keeps looking at him.

“You think I should have controlled myself more?” she asks, because fuck, that’s what she thinks of herself.

“I think if I were there —” He connects his eyes with her again. “Finn would have come off a lot worse.”

The way his muscles are tensed and his fist is curled by his side, she somehow doesn’t doubt it. He moves his hand back up, dabbing gently at her neck to smooth out the ointment. His soft touch is a direct contrast to his fury right now, his fingers almost trembling like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

“What about you?” Clarke hears herself asking, maybe to distract him from thinking about Finn. About something that can’t be changed now.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you do to _deserve_ your mark?” She repeats his phrasing, her gaze lingering on the letter ‘D’ on the side of his neck. It looks more faded compared to her stark, fresh ink — which makes sense, considering he’s had it longer.

Bellamy sighs, grabbing a towel off the rail behind him to wipe his hands. Clarke has never asked him, has been too afraid to know in case it was something truly terrible. Now, she realises it was probably something stupid that earned him his brand. He leans against her tiled wall, swapping the towel from hand to hand as he watches her in the mirror, like he’s debating whether to tell her or not.

Clarke smirks, a playful tease in her tone. “Come on, I showed you mine.”

It has the desired effect. Bellamy ducks his head, grinning. “Fair enough.”

Clarke spins on her chair to face him, observing how his face twists with discomfort as he tries to find his words. It’s rare to see Bellamy like this. Clarke is used to him being cocky, arrogant and sure of himself. This memory is painful for him, a hurt that runs deeper than the mark on his neck.

“Have you ever heard of The Ring Road?”

Clarke searches her brain for it, knowing it sounds familiar. She thinks Wells works near there, come to think of it. She remembers him talking about it, a cul-de-sac of houses that breeds residents of crime. Wells gets a lot of troubled youths into his centre from there, ones that are recruited for gangs or get involved with the distribution of drugs from a young age.

“On the outskirts of town?”

Bellamy nods. “I live there.”

Clarke keeps her facial expressions in check but she is surprised to hear that. It’s one of the roughest places in Shallow Valley and as far as she knows, Bellamy isn’t involved in the crime there. He can’t be or else he faces being arrested because of his HTS status. She wonders how he avoided it.

“Before testing was made mandatory everywhere, we were among the first to have our DNA taken,” he tells her. “Reputation and all.”

Clarke shifts on her chair, the cold air if her bathroom biting at her open tattoo. She watches Bellamy’s lips move as he talks, transfixed with every word.

“I tested positive, so did Octavia.”

“But she doesn’t go to Polis?”

“No, she doesn’t.” Bellamy slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the tiles below him. He pulls his knees up near his chest and rests his elbows on them, his hands curled into fists against the towel. “She still attends our old school across town. She can actually sit in classrooms, even though she’s heavily monitored.”

Clarke feels jealous of her. Octavia can actually sit in a normal school with normal people, learning from actual teachers. It’s a distant dream for carriers like her and her friends in Polis. Bellamy must see the question on her expression.

“I fought for her to stay there, argued that she deserved a chance because she’s only 15,” he says. “The second she does anything wrong, though, she’s over to Polis with us.”

“I’m sure you have her warned,” Clarke says.

A half smile cracks on his lips. “Octavia’s a free spirit, I’m not sure how long my warning will be good for,” he says. “She’s a good kid, though. Special.”

His eyes shine when he talks about his sister like that, like he couldn’t be more proud to be her big brother. It melts Clarke’s heart a little.

“I bet she thinks that about you too,” Clarke offers and Bellamy blushes slightly, gazing at her like he has a mountain of things to say but nothing comes out. There’s a moment of quiet before she speaks again. “Why didn’t you get a chance to stay at your old school?”

“I was already imprinted. I had no chance to begin with,” he tells her. “And the way things are going, girls like you getting pulled out of private schools the second a test result comes in, I’m not sure how long Octavia’s place will be secure.”

Clarke nods, agreeing with that. If the news broadcast every night is anything to go by, the world is falling into chaos more and more as the days go on. And the more that happens, the more power Pike and his people get.

“It scares me,” Bellamy admits, his voice sounding small. “How far I’d go to protect the people I care about.”

Clarke’s heart rate has picked up, wondering if she falls into that category too. His hair falls over his brows as he puts the towel down on the ground. She aches to reach out and run her fingers through his curls, anything to comfort him or erase the frown on his face.

“It’s why I got imprinted,” he goes on. “Protecting her.”

A piece of Clarke’s heart breaks at that. Bellamy’s face makes her throat constrict because the look of him living in these memories is almost too much to take.

“That day, I was walking home from school,” he says like he’s struggling to find the words. “Octavia was sick so she was supposed to be at home with our mother, but mom was called into work.”

He glances at Clarke on the chair in front of him, a mixture of pain and anger on his face.

“As I got closer to the house,” he mumbles. “I could see that our front door was open.”

It’s easy to connect the dots of what happened. They live in a rough neighbourhood where burglaries and home invasions are probably as common as rain.

“There were three of them,” Bellamy recalls, going blank behind his eyes. “Not much older than me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pursing his lips. Clarke’s breath stutters in her chest when she inhales, hating how wrecked he looks. The implication lies dead in the air of what Bellamy was walking in on.

“The house was trashed, but that’s not what I cared about,” Bellamy says, his voice cracking. “I can still see it when I close my eyes — see the three of them, standing around Octavia.” He shakes his head. “They had already hit her. If I hadn’t come home when I did, I don’t know what else they would have done.”

“Bellamy…” Clarke whispers.

“I lost it, Clarke,” he admits, meeting her gaze. “I made sure they knew how much of a mistake it was to break into our house.”

“You took on all three of them?”

“It just felt like an out of body experience,” Bellamy tells her, his voice echoing off the tiles around her bathroom. “I just kept thinking that I had to protect Octavia, kept seeing her split lip in my mind as I hit them.”

Clarke can’t move her mouth, can’t summon a single sound. He’s talking about how he was violent with another human being but all she wants to do is reach out and comfort _him_. What’s worse is she thinks those guys deserved every bit of what they got.

Bellamy laughs darkly. “And after all was said and done, I was imprinted for protecting my family, my home.”

The unfairness of it makes Clarke’s stomach turn. She clenches her teeth, certain that the same anger flowing through Bellamy now flows through her too.

“And those guys that broke in didn’t even get a slap on the wrist. Not for breaking into our house or for hurting my sister.”

“Because they weren’t carriers,” Clarke says flatly, understanding everything all too well.

Bellamy nods his head, smiling at the irony of it all. Clarke didn’t get it before, had such a false perception of HTS and imprinting. But this whole thing is exactly what Bellamy said it was: a game. And the key to surviving is knowing how to play it. The things that were in place to protect the world before are no longer in power — justice, laws, court cases — they’re all irrelevant now. HTS is their new reality.

Bellamy curls his hands into fists in front of him before flexing out his hand again. “As much as I tell myself that I was protecting Octavia, as much as I rationalise it,” he hisses. “I still fall asleep and see the blood on my hands.”

“ _Bellamy_.”

Those brown eyes of his shoot up to her, a vulnerability in them that Clarke has never seen before. “We’ve all got a monster inside of us, Clarke. And we’re all responsible for what it does when we let it out.”

The words have barely left his lips when Clarke moves, dropping herself to the ground in front of him. She doesn’t even think about it. She takes his hand in hers, feeling him stiffen under her touch.

“The things we’ve done to survive,” she says, the weight of her whole body behind those words. “They don’t define us.”

Bellamy blinks, staring at Clarke like he can see straight into her soul. The fact that he feels guilty about what happened shows what kind of a person he is. She has never been more convinced of the fact that violence and evil isn’t down to a gene. Bellamy has proven that to her.

He squeezes her hand, like he’s grateful for those words in that moment. Like they make sense to him. It suddenly strikes her how close they are. Electricity fizzles in the air between them, sparking from their connected hands. As much as they’ve shared tonight, as close as their circumstances have knitted them together, Clarke has to distance herself. The intensity of it all is too overwhelming.

“Come on,” she says, standing up and pulling him with her.

They stand face to face and she hears Bellamy inhale, awkwardly shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Uh.” He nods to her mark. “Make sure you clean that again tomorrow.”

“I will,” she promises, a small smile on her face.

“I mean it,” he warns lightly. “Or I’ll come back and do it myself.”

“Did you have someone?” Clarke hears herself ask. “To look after you when this happened to you?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “I’m used to looking after myself.”

Those words make Clarke want to fall apart. He’s a good person, someone she wants to take care of. She’s never had to protect anyone before but fuck, in this moment, she knows that she will do whatever it takes to make sure Bellamy never feels an ounce of pain again.

“So why did you do it for me?” Clarke asks him softly, her throat tight.

“Because I know this is hard for you. You have more to lose,” Bellamy says simply, the warmth in his eyes drawing Clarke to him like she’s never felt the sun until now. “I’m used to having nothing, being nothing.”

A _nothing_ that defended her with Dax.

A _nothing_ that picked her up when she was stranded, out past curfew.

A _nothing_ that tried to stop the Agency taking her to be imprinted.

A _nothing_ that showed up here today when she needed someone the most.

Her response to that is the easiest and truest thing she’s ever said. “You’re not nothing. Not to me.”

Bellamy’s chest barely moves as he stares at her, like he’s holding all his breath in his lungs. They’re so close that she can feel the heat between their bodies, a delicateness that could be easily shattered in the air around them. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as he reaches for her face, cupping it with one hand. When he strokes his thumb across her cheek, Clarke can’t stop her breath releasing in a shudder. She leans into it, closing her eyes. There’s a possibility that she’s a little touch starved because fuck, she’s never felt the way she does now. Not with Finn, not with anyone.

The desire to be distant with him has faded because now she wants nothing more than him to lean in that extra little bit, press his lips to hers and take her breath away. Their moment is over far too quickly, though. He’s already stepping away by the time she’s registered that his hand is gone from her face. She opens her eyes to see him walking backwards into her bedroom.

“I gotta get going,” he says, redness tinting his cheeks. Clarke can tell he’s flustered. She doesn’t blame him if his heart is beating as hard as hers is right now.

She follows him slowly, her voice weak when she speaks. “Thank you. For keeping me alive,” she jokes, gesturing to her neck.

With his hand on her doorknob, he gives her a closed lipped smile and a nod in return. “See you Monday, Princess.”

When he pulls open her door, she sees his head tilt back in surprise. “Sorry, Mrs. Griffin. I was just leaving.”

Clarke furrows her brow, curious as to why her mom is standing outside the door. Probably fearing for her daughter's life, if she were to guess. Bellamy slips out by her but Clarke can hear her mom utter him a genuine “thank you.”

When Clarke comes into view, her mom is standing with her cream coloured cardigan pulled in around her chest, leaning against her door frame as she watches Bellamy leave down the stairs. She glances back to Clarke, a smirk on her face and a knowing look in her eyes.

“What?” Clarke deadpans, but she’s smiling too.

“Nothing,” her mother says, her grin growing wider.

“How much did you hear?”

Her mother reaches for her doorknob to close the door. “Goodnight, honey.”

All of it, then.

Clarke rolls her eyes playfully, wondering why her mom never had that look of admiration on her face when Finn was the topic of conversation. By the time the door is closed and Clarke has collapsed on her bed, she knows the answer to that.

There’s no-one in the world like Bellamy Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	9. Go on and Try to Tear Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Skyscraper - Demi Lovato  
> This is the song used in Miranda's amazing trailer for this fic. If you haven't checked it out yet, you're missing out. It's linked in the end notes.

* * *

_Monday, May 1, 2023_ . _More than 50,000 registered carriers._

**Headline of the Times newspaper:**

THE DAY THE WORLD TOOK TO THE STREETS

Protesters in 7 different countries around the world and 42 states in America stand firm against treatment of “carriers”, stating it’s a severe violation of their human rights. 

* * *

Clarke spent ages contemplating herself in the mirror, so long that she missed breakfast. Her mom was dropping her to school so when she rushed down the stairs with her bag on her back, she expected a telling off because they were late.

Instead, her mother froze, her eyes on Clarke’s neck. Without the ointment thick on her skin, the tattoo was harsh and visible for the world to see. Especially considering Clarke cut her hair in a moment of rebellion last night. It now sits just below her chin, a bold bob that leaves her neck exposed.

“ _Show them what they did. Wear it like a battle scar_.”

Bellamy’s words were in her ear this morning and she felt a newfound confidence in herself. She didn’t have to feel shame or anger. No, defiance poured through her veins and pumped her up. She would not be broken by them, no matter what they did. She finally gets how Bellamy could walk around like he was proud of his mark. At first, she mistook it for arrogance and confidence, like he was making sure the world knew what he did to it. Now, she realises it was his way of making sure the world knows what it did to _him_.

Her mother stared at the tattoo for what felt like forever, a travel mug of coffee in one hand and her keys in the other. Finally, she shifted her eyes to Clarke’s and smiled, pride etched into her features.

“Your hair suits you like that.”

Clarke smiled. “Thanks, mom.”

She’s glad that her mother is coming back to normal after the shock of everything. Maybe it was the anger of the imprint that drove her over the edge with these people, or maybe it was overhearing Bellamy with her the other night. Either way, Clarke is happy that her mother isn’t staring at her like she’s damaged anymore.

She doesn’t _feel_ damaged anymore. In fact, she’s never felt more whole.

Now, as Clarke sits on her chair in the Skybox, she realises that she was never really alone in this like she once thought. Murphy had asked how he could score an imprint while Raven told her it looked badass. Monty gave her a hug, telling her she was the strongest person he knew.

 _They_ all make her strong.

Above all else, when Bellamy strolls into Polis, late as usual, his gaze sticks to her instantly. She blushes as those eyes of his rake over her, taking in her new appearance. Then, the heavens open and he smiles at her. It fills her up and she realises that _this_ is what is making her whole.

There’s no avoidance of eye contact and no pretending that Saturday night didn’t happen, no distance between them at all. As he makes his way over to his desk, he looks to her very visible tattoo — one that’s on show on purpose. He locks eyes with her after that, his grin growing wider. He sees her, _all_ of her, and it makes her chest swell.

His chair creaks as he sits down and he tips his head back like he’s checking her out. “Brave Princess.”

Clarke can’t stop the shy smirk that pulls at her lips, no more than she can help the redness on her cheeks. In her peripheral vision, she catches Raven’s eye over her shoulder and notices her quirked eyebrow and the smug expression on her face. Clarke rolls her eyes playfully at her, like she doesn’t know what she’s looking at or noticing — but of course she does. Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship has shifted since Saturday night and the air seems constantly charged between them now.

If the old her were to see the way she’s flirting easily with an imprinted carrier, she’d be shocked. That girl was too protected and shaded between the walls of her private school — fed lies and ignorance by her teachers, the news and the Agency. That girl would probably faint to see Bellamy’s imprint mirrored on her own neck now. That girl is dead.

Clarke is different now — eyes wide open and her spine transformed into steel. As she glances across at Bellamy, who is busy taking out his book, she knows there’s nowhere else she’d rather be than right in the middle of danger with him. It beats her old, safe life by a mile — _every fucking time._

* * *

The first assignment that Clarke took part in at this school, she was a ball of nerves. She had to pair up with Bellamy and back then, the thought of that unsettled her. For today’s assignment, though, she got up far too quickly from her seat to bag him as a partner.

He smirks boyishly as she approaches, dragging her chair along behind her. “Where’s the fire, Princess?”

She knows her cheeks tinge with the colour of one at his nickname for her and she wonders when that happened. Her eyes narrow on him but there’s no real heat there.

“Just didn’t want to be stuck with Dax.”

Bellamy peers over his shoulder at the loner down the back of the room, reluctantly making his way over to Monty because Murphy has snapped up Raven. Mbege is absent again, having been out yesterday too.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Bellamy says playfully. “Those two miss a lot of time here, don’t think they’re very reliable partners.”

“Or very trustworthy.” Clarke adds, pulling in her chair to Bellamy’s desk.

They organise their papers and notepads simultaneously, reading over the assignment. It’s pretty basic, like most of the work they do here. Nothing to educate them any more than they already are, just enough of a challenge so they aren’t bored. They divide the workload, swap ideas and Clarke honestly tries hard not to lose focus. It’s useless when she’s looking at Bellamy, though.

It’s too easy to get lost in those eyes, the ones that are much less guarded now after Saturday night. She can’t help but let her gaze dart across each freckle on his nose, connecting them like star constellations to the ones on his cheeks. The way he presses his lips together to compress a smile when she makes a joke or smart comment — it makes her skin buzz dangerously, makes her want to kiss the smirk off his face.

“So what’s the first thing we should start with?” Clarke asks, distracting herself from doing just that.

“Probably the date,” Bellamy jokes, leaning back in his chair. There’s a gleam in his eye, one that tells her that he's definitely more interested in looking at her than the assignment.

“Write it down then, genius,” she quips, biting her bottom lip as she stares at the curls falling into his eyes.

“Fine.” He raises his eyebrows in amusement, making a face at her as he straightens his pen to write on his notepad. “What date is it, the 2nd?”

“Wednesday, 3rd of May,” she recites. “My birthday.”

Bellamy pauses mid-scrawl, glancing up at her from under his brows. “It’s your birthday today?”

Clarke shrugs, toying with the pen between her fingers. “No big deal.”

It’s not a big deal today. It used to be. Last year, Finn, Josephine and the rest of her friends in school made a big thing about it. Josephine brought in balloons and hung them around the classroom. Finn made her wear a dumb birthday badge and everyone in Arkadia sang ‘happy birthday’ to her all day. Clarke pretended to hate it but really, she enjoyed the attention. Then, when she came home, Thelonious and her mother ordered in her favourite takeout and they all sat around the living room to watch a selection of movies. When Wells came home from work, they brought out a cake that lasted for days in the fridge because they never managed to eat all of it.

That was when life was normal. This year, she’s a marked carrier and none of her Arkadian friends would even say hello to her now, let alone wish her a happy birthday. Finn and Josephine are the reason she’s marked in the first place and she doubts very much that Cage would allow them to decorate the Skybox with balloons. Clarke even went as far as telling her mother not to make a big fuss, to not even bother getting it off work. It’s just something she doesn’t want to note this year, content to let it slip by.

“No big deal?” Bellamy echoes. “You’re turning eighteen.”

“It’s not like much is changing.” She laughs, finding his eyes again. “Will the Agency remove my carrier status as a birthday gift?”

Bellamy looks like he’s going to argue the point with her but he snaps his mouth closed, glancing to the top of the room where Cage is half asleep at his desk.

“Come on,” he says, shoving his books into his bag and standing up.

“What?”

“ _Come on_.”

Clarke does as she’s told, half laughing because what is he doing?

“Hey, where are you guys going?” Murphy chimes up from behind them, looking cosy with Raven as they sit close together for the assignment.

“I’ll text you,” Bellamy hisses back to him as he starts towards the cage door. “Keep your phone on.”

Clarke doesn’t know what’s happening but she follows him out of the Skybox, hot on his heel.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cage asks, his false sense of authority fuelling his words. “Sit down.”

“Shut it,” Bellamy snaps. “You think I need one of your special hall passes to leave? We’re both eighteen, we don’t even have to attend.”

Clarke has to stifle her laugh because Cage looks like he just sucked on a mouthful of wasps. With that, they saunter out of the Skybox and down the stairs until they’re in the open air of the school grounds.

Bellamy looks over his shoulder at her once they're outside and Clarke chuckles, running to catch up beside him. It’s a different kind of freedom to be doing this with him, one that makes her heart light and her head dizzy. Her heart is soaring, drunk on some kind of adrenaline that comes from being around Bellamy.

She slides into the seat of his rover, giddy with the false sense of danger from skipping school. Technically, there’s nothing anyone can do to them — not really. Even the Agency. They’re under no obligation to attend now that they’re both of age, but still, it’s the wildest thing Clarke has ever done.

“Where are we going?” She laughs breathlessly as Bellamy gets in beside her, slipping on his seatbelt.

He tuts as he starts the rickety engine, a cocky smirk on his lips. “So impatient.”

Clarke giggles, shoving her hair back from her eyes with her whole hand as she lets down the window. As they pull out of school and onto the road, Bellamy picks up speed and she takes a large gulp of the fresh hair pouring in, flowing through her curls. She closes her eyes, basking in the breeze and the warm sun on her skin. It’s just past 11am and the boldness of playing hooky is filling Clarke with a sense of privilege that she’s never felt before.

She looks over as Bellamy fiddles with the radio, observing the way his golden skin bursts with light and everything that resembles happiness.

“Ready to be a badass, Clarke?” he teases, glancing at her briefly before refocusing his attention back to the road.

“Course I am.” Clarke gestures to her neck tattoo. “Fully equipped for the role.”

Bellamy throws his head back, a loud laugh escaping his chest that fills Clarke with tingles and butterflies. Two weeks ago, she really thought that she would never feel anything close to happiness ever again. Now, she wonders if she ever knew what happiness was until now.

They pass houses and buildings until they turn into trees and keep going until those trees turn into countryside and open spaces. Fresh oxygen fills Clarke’s nostrils and she sticks her head out the window, basking in the openness of where they are. Fields of golden flowers blur her vision in streaks of yellow and music seeps out from the radio. And like the universe could sense it, it’s the most appropriate song for this time in her life.

She leans forward and turns it up fully, the widest grin on her face as she glances at Bellamy.

“ _You can take everything I have_ ,” she sings, belting out the words that are fueled by the strength she’s feeling. “ _You can break everything I am_.”

Bellamy’s smile falls back into a smirk, something in his eyes that Clarke can’t describe. It looks like pride — it looks like she amazes him. He shakes his head slightly as he checks the road in front of him briefly. He pulls back to her instantly though, like he can’t keep his eyes off her, a softness in his expression.

“ _Like I’m made of glass._ ” She laughs as she sings the lyrics in time with the song on the radio. “ _Like I’m made of paper._ ”

The swell of delight that rises inside her when Bellamy joins in almost makes her scream. She can’t contain the joy. He smiles so hard as he sings with her. “ _Go on and try to tear me down._ ”

The windows are down and the music is loud and their chests are empty from the force of their singing, almost shouting the words out into the universe in unison. It’s a power trip, the defiance pouring from their lungs as they refuse to let HTS ruin them.

“ _I will be rising from the ground_ —”

She looks over at him and he’s beaming at her, the veins in his neck popping from the exertion of how loud they’re singing. The road is spinning by, taking them further and further away from the world that almost destroyed them. Clarke has never felt so at peace.

“ _Like a skyscraper! Like a skyscraper!_ ”

Both of them are breathless, their laughs tumbling out in the air. The blue skies above are the only ones to hear them, screaming out song lyrics in an old beat up rover in the middle of nowhere. And as Clarke looks across once more, the biggest smile on her face and the freedom in her chest, she feels something else in there now that the weight has been removed.

It’s as clear as the serendipity of this moment. The realisation doesn’t scare her, it just makes her want to lean into the drop even more.

She’s falling for him. She’s falling for Bellamy.

* * *

Clarke wonders if she’s witnessing colour in its purest form out here. It’s like she’s only realising the strength of the sky’s hue, as blue as the paint she used to buy to use on her canvases. It’s rich and vibrant, soaking her in it’s calmness.

She rolls onto her back, the blades of grass in the field tickling her ears as she goes. The willow tree above their heads provides some protection from the sun's sharp rays but it can’t mask the sky. Flecks of green leaves speckle it and Clarke knows it’s a scene she wants to put onto paper when she gets home. It’s been a long time since she wanted to draw something that wasn’t Bellamy.

She shifts her head to him, observing the way he’s leaning on his side with his elbow propping him up. His fingers are busy pulling little yellow buttercups from the grass and his eyebrows are knitted together, like the task is difficult and requires all of his concentration.

Clarke smiles. The sky is beautiful, but it’s nothing compared to him.

“The conversation is riveting,” she jokes, smirking when he looks up.

“Talking would just disturb the peace.” He raises an eyebrow back at her. “Not that I get much of that with you around.”

She rips out a chunk of grass and tosses it at him but the breeze carries it away before it can reach its mark. He chuckles and Clarke rolls her eyes playfully, looking back up to the sky.

“You shouldn’t be suggesting plans to spend time with me, then.”

“It was a special occasion.” Bellamy sits upright now, leaning one elbow across his folded knee. “I mean, it’s not every day you turn eighteen.”

“True.” Clarke gives him that.

“I’m sorry if it’s not how you imagined spending your birthday.”

It’s clear by his tone that he’s trying to keep everything light and humorous but his eyes give away the shroud of guilt he’s feeling — like he thinks she’s somehow settling for this.

“I actually couldn’t have imagined it any better.”

“Oh yeah?” A small smile creeps onto his face. “Why’s that, Princess?”

 _Because you’re here._ She keeps that bit to herself, though. “I don’t know, I guess I feel like I’ve been dreaming my way through life.”

Bellamy shoves his curls back out of his eyes, attentive on her while she explains.

She sits up so that she’s facing him, curling her legs underneath herself. “But now, I’m finally awake. Everything I see, it’s real.”

The sunlight cracks through the leaves above them and he squints his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Clarke blows out a breath. “I guess I was content with living a simple life and walking a plain road. It was easy to ignore everything else, shut it out.” She rips out another piece of grass and twists the dry blade between her fingers. “HTS was just something I saw on the news and blindly followed what was said about it.”

She swallows thickly and checks his reaction to that. He’s just watching her with interest, like she could read a grocery list and he’d still be sucked in.

“I went with the crowd's thoughts, and believed what they told me to believe. It was something I read about on social media posts and judged it from behind my screen.” Clarke purses her lips, shaking her head. “It’s easy to close your eyes to prejudice when it doesn’t affect you.”

Bellamy’s gaze is heavy on her but he nods, encouraging her to keep going.

“I never stopped to think what carriers actually go through — the injustice they feel, the struggles they face. And I hate that it took me being thrown into it to understand it.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he tells her, his voice softer than she’s ever heard it.

“No,” she says adamantly. “I’m not hard enough. That’s the problem. I wish I had stood up for this sooner, woke up to the fact that my world wasn’t just about Arkadia and all the idiots there.”

“Accidental ignorance doesn’t make you a bad person, Clarke,” he starts, his words providing a balm for her guilt. “No matter what the world thinks and no matter what you think. I know who you are.”

Clarke’s heart picks up speed after that, her eyes trained on him. He looks at her like he knows every inch of her and wants her anyway.

He’s right. She might have been uneducated about it all but still, there was nothing that ever stopped her from _learning_. She sure has now, the hard way.

“I should have known that they were only showing us what they wanted us to see — the violence, the crime rates. The injustice towards carriers wasn’t shown on television, the imprinting, the good people who had their world ripped out from under their feet.” She sighs. “I should have _known_.”

“How could you have?”

“Wells did,” she says, resentment of her past selfishness bubbling in her chest. “He was always concerned about the bigger picture and yet, our parents think _I’m_ the good one. God, even before HTS, he was always better.”

Bellamy shifts a little on the grass, the light breeze blowing his hair. “Princess, we’ve all made mistakes and closed our eyes to things that needed our attention. What is the point of kicking yourself about this now?”

“Because now, I can make damn sure that I never follow anything blindly again.” She cocks her chin up, sure about that. “It’s why this birthday is the best one yet.”

Despite the heaviness of their conversation, the corners of Bellamy’s lips turn up. He tilts his head, a question in his expression.

“I know who I am now,” she answers it. “And I never thought I’d say this, but I’m thankful for my positive test. I’m awake, and I don’t ever intend on going back to sleep.”

The smile that comes onto Bellamy’s face fills Clarke with a warmth that can’t ever be gotten from the sun. Pride is etched into every feature and when he speaks, his voice is weighted with depth and scrapes across her skin like sandpaper.

“I think I’m waking up to a few things myself.”

Heat rises to her cheeks and she mirrors his smile, certain that there’s nowhere else she’d rather be than sitting in a field on her birthday with Bellamy Blake.

They fall into a comfortable silence, the birds chirping around them as springtime announces itself in full volume. The breeze is warm against Clarke’s skin as she scans the field, absorbing the peace that comes from sitting in the shallow grass with a man she’s grown so close to. His rover is parked outside the gate of the field and Clarke focuses on the way the sun reflects off the windows. She wishes that time would slow down in this moment.

She leans back against the bark of the willow tree after a few minutes, observing the way Bellamy’s posture looks more relaxed than she’s ever witnessed. He must feel her eyes on him because he looks up and catches her staring. They both snuff out a laugh and she averts her eyes, butterflies fluttering around in her stomach.

“What were you gonna do after school? Before HTS?” he asks her after the moment settles between the two of them.

Clarke doesn’t feel the same pain that she usually experiences when she thinks about that lost opportunity. “Um, I was gonna go to Sanctum.”

“The art University?” Bellamy sounds impressed. “That’s an elite college, right?”

“Yeah,” she says shyly. She squints at him through the afternoon light. “I was offered a place when I was in Arkadia.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, astonishment pouring out of every pore. “Clarke, that’s amazing.”

She used to feel so embarrassed at him knowing anything about her prestigious opportunities, like she needed to prove that she fit into this world of HTS. Now, she just feels the usual shyness that comes when talking about her art.

“They revoked it though,” she tells him, shrugging afterwards like it’s no big deal.

He winces subtly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says, and she really means it. “It’s not important. Not really.”

“Anything that makes you happy is important,” Bellamy argues.

Clarke looks up at him, realising how true that is. Except for the first time in her life, art isn’t what brings her joy. _He does_. “I agree.”

Bellamy stares at her for a long minute before ducking his head, a small smile on his lips like he understood that.

“What about you?” she asks, hoping her heart settles and stops skipping. “What were you gonna do before HTS?”

He sighs, taking a beat before responding. “Before HTS, I still had responsibilities at home,” he tells her. “My mom would never have been able to afford college for me so my goal was to always support her and O as best I could financially.”

Clarke’s chest constricts a little at that. He had so much weight on his shoulders when the biggest thing she had to worry about was her social life.

“Still, you have to have something you love.”

His eyes meet hers. “Yeah. A few things.”

Clarke swallows, forcing herself to take proper breaths. The way he looks at her sometimes makes her heart blow up.

“Such as?”

“I like to read,” he admits. “I used to put Octavia to bed every night because my mom would get called into work a lot.” He scoffs fondly. “She always asked for about five stories before she’d fall asleep.”

Clarke grins, picturing him being so gentle and loving. A direct contrast to how abrasive and irritating he was when she first met him.

“Her favourite ones were of mythology,” he continues. “But eventually, she got bored of tales about Zeus and his brothers, the inaccuracies in some of the legends. So I made up my own.”

“I thought you had no hobbies?” she jokes and Bellamy lets out a laugh.

“Well, I don’t know if I’d count that as a hobby. But at least she never got sick of those stories.”

“So you think you would have been a writer?” she asks curiously.

He shrugs. “I was late submitting an essay for school once and I had nothing prepared, so I just sent in one of my old stories to get the grade.” He picks up another buttercup and Clarke watches how the yellow flower spins when he twirls it. “I got an A+. My teacher asked me if I’d consider entering it into this national competition that was on at the time. I told her no because I didn’t think it was good enough.”

Clarke is starting to realise that this is a common theme with Bellamy. He has such a short opinion of himself. He puts on a cocky show for the public but deep down, he’s much different. She wishes he could see himself how she sees him because fuck, his confidence would skyrocket.

“But my teacher submitted it anyway,” he says, looking like his thoughts are transporting him back there. “They contacted me a week later. Not only did I win the competition but they asked if I had thought about writing a longer version of the story. I told them I already had. They wanted to offer me a book deal.”

Clarke beams at him. “Bellamy, that’s incredible.”

He smiles, staring at the flower between his fingers. “I thought I’d finally get out of the Ring Road, take Octavia and my mother to a safer place, away from the crime. But then…”

“But then HTS.”

He looks up at her now. He doesn’t appear upset or disappointed, just resigned to his fate. “Then HTS.”

Clarke now realises why Wells hates their privilege. So many people have to struggle to get half of the chances and opportunities they got easily, only to have it ripped away from them. She could have been spending her time so differently instead of being pressed against the lockers with Finn. She could have been trying to make a difference. Her mother was right, she should make the most of her privilege. Except now, given the chance, Clarke would use it to help people with their dreams.

She wishes Bellamy had that chance. The world is missing a great asset.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shrugs, a light smirk on his face. “Swings and roundabouts.”

“You would have been great, you know,” she tells him. “I know it.”

He stares at her like she built the world around them. After a beat, he hands her the flower in his hand. It’s a small, dainty little thing and Clarke feels dizzy from the gesture.

“Happy birthday, Princess.”

She giggles as she takes it. “Thank you.”

Bellamy is smiling at her so softly that Clarke thinks her heart might burst at the sight of it. She decides that after eighteen years, she finally knows what it’s like to be truly happy.

* * *

Bellamy drops her home when the sun is dropping too low for a visual, the day bleeding into night.

After they drove back into town, Bellamy texted Murphy, Raven and Monty and they all met up at Dropship Diner. They sat in the booth by the window, sipping on strawberry milkshakes and sharing a basket of fries.

Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever laughed as much as she did today. They shared stories and jokes, just a bunch of carriers in their own little corner of the world.

A few people in the diner gave them strange looks, like they couldn’t understand how their “kind” were allowed to be out and enjoying themselves. Clarke couldn’t bring herself to care though. No, she was past that. She simply looked across at Bellamy and everything else faded into background noise.

He disappeared into the kitchens for a few minutes at one point and when he re-emerged, he had a small chocolate cupcake with a candle in it. Clarke felt tears prick at her eyes when they all sang happy birthday to her and she realised when she blew out the candle, she had nothing to wish for. There was no place she’d rather be.

“Thank you for such a great day,” she tells him as they pull up outside her house.

“Well, I’m planning Vegas for your 21st,” he quips, turning off the engine of the rover.

Clarke laughs. “Oh, you’re planning on still being around by then?”

He taps the side of his neck where his imprint is. “I told you. We’re connected for life now.”

Fuck. She hopes so.

“We’ll probably be on the no-fly list by then.” Clarke leans her head back against his seat, staring at him with adoration.

“Guess we’ll just have to go back to our field then.” Bellamy shrugs. “I’ll bring a deck of cards and some beer.”

Clarke chuckles, basking in how it feels to actually laugh again. She had almost forgotten before today. Her chest actually aches and part of her doesn’t want this day to end. When she checks Bellamy’s face again, his smile has faded back into a softer one.

The silence of the rover envelopes them, peaceful in it’s own way. When he leans in towards her, Clarke hears every movement. Her heart stutters because fuck, is he going to kiss her?

Her breathing stops when she feels his lips land on her cheek, lingering a little there before he pulls her into a hug. She leans into the warmth of his face against her skin and the smell of his aftershave swallows her whole. She’d give anything to bottle this feeling, even if she’s a little disappointed that his lips didn’t meet hers.

“Happy birthday again, Princess.”

She nods against his shoulder, her throat too tight with emotion to talk. He’s made this day so special for her in the most simple ways.

He pulls away too soon and then she’s slipping out of the rover, closing the door behind her. She wonders if he can see the way her eyes are glistening.

“See you tomorrow,” she says through his open window, her voice shot.

Bellamy smiles. “See you then.”

And like before, he watches her until she’s safely inside the walls of her home. Clarke’s heart is so full. She blows out a breath once the door is shut behind her, elated. She sinks her hands into her pockets, feeling the flower that Bellamy gave her. It was something so simple but it means so much to her, coming from him.

“Clarke, honey, is that you?”

Her mother’s voice draws her to the living room. She’s home from work? When Clarke rounds the corner, she finds her mother, Thelonious and Wells sitting around on the couches. There’s a cake in the middle of the coffee table and a couple of balloons dotted around the place.

That’s when the tears come. A sob erupts from Clarke before she can catch it but she’s smiling so hard.

“Oh, Clarke,” her mother says, coming over to give her a hug.

Wells and Thelonius come up for a hug too, wrapping their arms around her mother and Clarke. It’s been a long time since they’ve had a family embrace like this.

“Are you okay?” her mother asks softly.

Clarke sniffles against her shoulder. “Never better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	10. What a Wicked Game to Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Wicked Game - Daisy Gray

* * *

_Thursday, May 4, 2023_. _More than 53,000 registered carriers._

**Text exchange between Mbege and Dax:**

_Mbege:_ You better not be late, man. Remember, noon by the fountain.

 _Dax_ : Yeah, I’m part of the same internet chat as you. I can read.

 _Mbege_ : Sometimes I wonder.

 _Dax:_ Funny. How many guns are the others bringing?

 _Mbege_ : Enough to make an impact.

 _Dax_ : Ark mall, right?

 _Mbege_ : Yeah. Stay focused. No second thoughts, no regrets.

 _Dax:_ The only regret I have is that I didn’t think to organise this myself. Lucky we found that chatroom when we did or we could have missed the action today.

 _Mbege_ : It’s gonna be great! Pike and his agency want to treat us like animals? We’ll show them animals.

* * *

Clarke is on cloud nine and she has no intention of coming back down.

Yesterday was bliss. She spent the evening with her family, watching movies and eating takeout. Everything felt so normal, almost like it was before HTS. Wells gave background information to the movie like a running commentary and Thelonious pointed out every inaccuracy. Her mother laughed more than she has in a long time and Clarke just sat back against the couch and soaked it all in.

When she went to bed later, she thought about Bellamy and their day trip. She thought about the way he smiled, how his eyes would suck her in and swallow every piece of her. She thought about the way he rounded up the others to come and celebrate with her. The day was perfect and Clarke wishes she could repeat it for the rest of her life.

The happiness has even spilled over into today, carrying her through the morning in Polis like a waking dream. Clarke spends the first hour sketching the field from yesterday, adding in Bellamy under the willow tree. Her pencil has a mind of its own, drawing him looking down at the yellow buttercups as he picked them.

The same feeling as yesterday engulfs her as she traces his curls, darkening them with her shader. It blows up inside her chest, coating her heart and every other inch of her. It’s new and exciting to experience something she never has before, to feel every angle of it in full force. Clarke looks across at Bellamy who is highlighting a passage in his book, observing the way his features are much lighter now than when she first met him. She knows the feeling by name, knows it to be love, even without having felt it before.

She’s so fucking in love with him. In a time of ruthless chaos and violence, in a time where there should be no such thing as happiness for them. But she has it — and she has no intention of letting it go.

He finds her eyes in that moment, smirking at her before giving her a wink. How Clarke doesn’t get up there and then and kiss him, she’ll never know. Pike and his HTS theories can go screw themselves. Controlling herself in the presence of Bellamy Blake proves that she doesn’t act on impulse. If she can do that, she can certainly stop herself from harming someone.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Blake?” Raven pries during lunch.

Clarke looks across the Skybox to where Bellamy is sitting beside Monty, nodding his head in response to Murphy’s conversation. She knows exactly what Raven is asking, but she plays dumb anyway.

“What do you mean?”

Raven adjusts her elbows on the desk they’re sharing, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. You’re definitely fucking. I think I’ve seen him smile once before you started here.”

Clarke almost chokes on her sandwich. “ _No._ We’re _not_ fucking. It’s not like that.”

“But you want it to be like that,” Raven says. _That’s an understatement_. Clarke must go red because Raven continues. “I mean, I’m not judging. You like a bad boy. There’s no shame in that.”

“He’s not a bad boy,” Clarke corrects her. “Maybe surface level, but not underneath.”

At the start, maybe that was the alluring attraction. Bellamy was mysterious, closed off and brooding, not to mention gorgeous. Now though, Clarke understands him a little more. She has seen the deeper end to Bellamy and it has only fanned the spark that was already there. Now, it’s a full on wildfire that Clarke can’t seem to grab hold of.

“I get that,” Raven says as she takes a sip from her water bottle.

Clarke doesn’t miss how her eyes drift to Murphy. It’s easy to see that there’s something brewing there between the two of them.

She doesn’t get a chance to ask more about it though because Alie enters the room without knocking. She scans the place briefly but her direction is clear. She approaches Cage’s desk quickly, bending down to speak in a low volume.

Clarke’s pulse skyrockets. The last time Alie came in here unannounced, it was to take Clarke for imprinting. There’s no Sydney here this time which makes her breathe a little easier but it doesn’t stop the same sick feeling returning with a bang.

Bellamy looks over his shoulder sharply, connecting with Clarke’s gaze immediately. They share their concern silently, both of them wondering what has caught Alie’s attention enough to bring her up here. It couldn’t be because they skipped school yesterday, could it? They’re technically not even obliged to attend.

Raven has tensed beside Clarke and both Monty and Murphy have stopped eating, all of them straining their ears to hear the hum of conversation at the top of the room.

Finally, Cage stands up as Alie retreats from the room in a hurry — almost like she has other matters to attend to. 

“Alright, all of you. Listen up,” Cage begins. “We have a bit of a situation.”

Clarke swallows thickly, hating how nauseous her stomach is and how she’s already starting to sweat. It’s like the panic has engraved itself into her muscle memory, activating every time something feels even mildly off.

“We’re dismissing you all early today,” Cage announces, already gathering his things. “Campus security is outside the door waiting to escort you out of school.”

Clarke thinks the world has tipped off balance. Why do they need a security escort? It’s clear Bellamy is thinking the same thing. His shoulders straighten like he’s preparing himself for some kind of altercation. He finds Clarke’s eyes again, as if checking that she’s still there — still okay.

“Why? What’s going on?” Raven asks from beside Clarke.

“You’ll learn soon enough.” Cage is shoving papers into his bag hastily. It does nothing to soothe Clarke’s nerves. Why is he panicking? “There’s been an incident.”

“What incident?” Monty speaks up.

Cage looks up, pausing in his goal of putting away his desk items. He’s paler than usual and Clarke knows it’s going to be bad. When he speaks, it feels like there’s a bomb about to go off in the room, they just aren’t sure when.

“There’s been a mass shooting at Ark mall. The body count is high. Over fifty so far.”

The silence that falls over the Skybox is unprecedented. All of them look at one another and Clarke is sure they’re all feeling the same thing she is. The news is devastating.

“That sucks and all.” Murphy eventually breaks the quiet. “But what does that have to do with us?”

She knows the underlying question: why do they need an escort off the school grounds?

“Because, Mr. Murphy, —” Cage doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to tolerate Murphy’s sarcasm. “The shooters are carriers. All of them.”

Bellamy stands abruptly, sense seemingly clicking into place quicker than the rest of them. He turns and meets Clarke’s eyes once more, the urgency in his face fear inducing. “Move, now.”

He says it loud enough to be an instruction to them all but Clarke knows he’s worried for her. She does as she’s told like a robot, hardwired to follow his every command. There’s a shuffle around her as the others grab their things.

“Carriers have done things before,” Murphy argues as he shoves the remainder of his lunch into his bag. “Why would we be targeted now?”

“Because,” Bellamy says as he opens the Skybox gate. “Notice anyone missing here today?”

The hole in Clarke’s stomach widens. Fuck. Mbege and Dax aren’t in school. Is that why they’ve been missing so much time? They’ve been planning this? Fuck — she’s going to throw up.

“Twenty minutes until the next bell so hurry,” Cage reminds them before he sprints out through the door, leaving them there.

Coward.

He’s right, though. There’s no time to waste. Surely the news has spread across Polis school by now, meaning all of them are in very real danger. Clarke isn’t sure if arrests have been made or the students here know that two carriers from their school are involved but she imagines the fury will be the same either way. They’ll have had loved ones at that mall, people in their community — and any carrier will do for blame.

“Move, Clarke.” Bellamy grabs her hand, pulling her out through the gate with him.

The others are jogging on ahead, flanked by two campus security guards. Clarke watches Bellamy’s back, focusing on his shoulder movements under his t-shirt. She wonders if he’s as tense as she is right now.

On their descent down the stairs, Clarke catches one of the guards staring at her imprint when he falls back beside her. He’s probably wondering when she’ll go crazy and kill someone like the carriers did today. He jogs on ahead, likely glad to be leaving the two imprinted carriers until last.

Bellamy’s hand never leaves Clarke’s, a warm anchor tethering her to land in an ocean that is constantly trying to sweep her away.

The front of the school looms ahead, the doors in plain sight now. Anxiety bubbles under her skin but they’re almost out.

Suddenly, a sharp pain grows at the back of Clarke’s head and she’s falling quicker than she has time to bring her hands forward to break her drop. The only thing that saves her is the metal wristband that marks her carrier status. It slaps against the floor and digs into her wrist, holding her to consciousness.

“Carrier scum!”

Clarke is aware of a vague ringing in her ears, a commotion of movement around her and a low, rough voice speaking to her through cotton. Her vision is dragging, too hazey to truly absorb what’s in front of her.

“ _Clarke_!” It gets clearer with each repetition. Bellamy’s face comes into focus, his brown eyes full of panic and anger. “Clarke. Come on. Can you stand?”

She manages a nod, despite the pain radiating through her skull. Bellamy is then heaving her up and pushing her forward. That’s when his hands leave her though because Murphy takes over, pulling Clarke along with him. By the time they’ve reached the lobby doors, she has enough sense of self to look back over her shoulder.

Students are following Clarke and the others, shouting at them with furious looks on their faces. That’s not what holds her attention though. Fear lances through her when she sees Bellamy behind the crowd, his head swinging to the side from a punch. The boy he’s fighting with lands another one before Bellamy gets his footing again, lunging into his stomach and knocking them both to the ground. Campus security flurries around the brawl. One of the guards locks his baton around Bellamy’s neck and drags him off the boy roughly.

“Bellamy!”

She spins, about to race back towards him but Murphy’s arms fold around her stomach, dragging her out the doors and into the carpark. Clarke kicks and screams for Bellamy, her heart going a million miles a minute. She has to get back to him. They can’t just leave him there.

“Fucking carriers!”

Slurs and shouts from the mob of students following them tune into Clarke’s ears but she ignores them, clawing Murphy’s hands because fuck, Bellamy is still in there.

“Let me go!” Clarke exclaims, her voice shot from screaming.

“Get her into the damn car,” Raven orders.

“No!” Clarke sounds animalistic.

“Hurry up, Murphy!” Monty says from the driver's seat of Murphy’s car.

Murphy practically falls into his back seat with Clarke on top of him, her back to his stomach as she kicks and lashes.

“We can’t just leave him there!”

Raven slams the door behind them and slides into the front beside Monty. He pulls out of the space before she even has her door closed, speeding out of the school and onto the road.

Clarke shoves Murphy away from her aggressively, panting and gasping as she looks at the school through the back window. Students are pouring out, throwing things at the car and shouting inaudible words at them.

“Bellamy is still in there!” Clarke shoves Murphy again who merely holds his hands up in surrender.

Raven swings around in the front seat. “He told us to get you out of there.”

“And you just blindly follow his every fucking command?” Clarke exasperates.

“He’ll be okay,” Monty says sympathetically, his eyes trained on the road in front of them. He looks nervous driving and Clarke wonders if he has ever driven a car before.

Clarke slumps back against the seat, raking her nails over her scalp and pulling her hair along with it. Fuck. _Fuck_.

The air sticks to Clarke’s skin and the dread along with it. How have things gotten like this? Yesterday had been so peaceful and it felt like the beginning of something. Now Clarke realises it was the end. The end of carrier tolerance, the end of life as they know it. After this, she imagines the future doesn’t bode well for them. They’ll be less than pests but more than identified, more than monitored and warned and marked.

Clarke should have known those good moments yesterday were fleeting, seemingly only sprinkled into this life they’re living. It was just borrowed time for people like them. A whisper in the air before it was gone.

* * *

Clarke barely makes it to Friday evening before caving.

Diana Syndey called this morning on the phone, instructing Clarke to stay at home until further guidelines were given. That meant no school — and that meant no Bellamy.

The day wore her down, several thoughts running through her head. She can’t stand it any longer. Darkness is already starting to creep in but she doesn’t care. She has to see if Bellamy is okay. It never occurred to her to ask for his number and she doesn’t know if he even has a phone. But she knows where he lives.

She grabs Wells’ jeep keys off the hall table and lets herself out of the house quietly. Her mother wouldn’t approve of her leaving — not now, not when the country is on the brink of destruction over carriers. Especially with an imprint on her neck, Clarke knows she’d be a prime target for vigilante justice. The fallout of the mall shooting has been rough and her entire family is on edge. They know something is coming. This is too big to let slide. The government will have to act harsher now, forced under public pressure.

Clarke’s future is an uncertain and scary place, more so than it had been before. But right now, that doesn’t matter. Bellamy is her only priority.

As she gets closer to the outskirts of town, more graffiti starts appearing on the walls. There’s less of a human presence here, making it seem deserted. Crime is like an infection here, seeping into every alleyway and street. It piles more fear onto Clarke and she tightens her grip on the steering wheel. On top of everything, she’s not a very practiced driver. She only got her license a few months ago. Still, Bellamy is worth the risk.

She pulls onto the Ring Road and slows down, creeping past each house. Many of them are run down and withered. There’s a few kids at the corner, all holding metal crowbars and pellet guns. A few paces ahead of them, there are older youths leaning against a car. They look like they’re in their early twenties and the guns they’re keeping definitely aren’t pellet ones. They stare at Clarke as she passes, committing her appearance to memory it seems. She snaps her eyes ahead, scanning the driveways for Bellamy’s rover.

She slams on the breaks when she spots it, almost missing it on the left. She pulls in behind it and turns off the engine, assessing her surroundings. His house is nicer than most of the homes in the neighbourhood. The grass is mowed and there’s a flowerbed with beautiful yellow sunflowers growing in a patch at the side of the house. The front light is on, illuminating the garden and Clarke’s path to the porch.

Clarke blows out a breath and steps outside, glancing over her shoulder before jogging up to the door. She knocks twice and stands back, wringing her hands together in anticipation. The youths down the street are eyeing her warily now, craning their necks to see her. She lifts her head up, determined to appear confident. They can fuck off. She’s faced worse than them, even with their guns.

The door opens in front of her and Clarke is now face to face with a tall brunette. Her hair is as straight as a metre stick, the shine reflecting off the light when she moves.

“Yes?” she snaps, all edge and brass.

“Hi,” Clarke starts pathetically, a little taken aback to see her here. For some reason, she thought she would only have to deal with Bellamy. This must be his sister. “I’m here to see Bellamy?”

Clarke doesn’t miss how Octavia’s gaze drops to her imprint, lingering there. Her lips curve up into a smirk, rolling her eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Is he here?” she asks, trying not to lean too much into that.

Octavia throws her head back, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Bellamy! You have a visitor.”

There’s a shuffle inside while Octavia moves her eyes back to Clarke. She scans her up and down.

“Not many imprinted female carriers.” She nods at Clarke’s neck. “No offence but you don’t exactly look the type.”

Clarke bristles. “No? What _type_ do I look like?”

Octavia snorts out a short laugh. “Not Bellamy’s. That’s for sure.”

That stings deep. Bellamy has a type? And Clarke’s not it? She presses her lips into a hard line, hating that a stupid comment like that is getting under her skin.

“You go to school with him?”

“Yeah,” Clarke replies shortly, playing with the strap of her father’s watch while she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

She’s grateful for Bellamy appearing behind his sister. Relief floods her. He looks okay from a quick glance. He’s dressed in a familiar blue t-shirt and his curls look damp, like he’s not long out of the shower.

For a moment, surprise cracks through his expression when he sees Clarke standing on his porch. Then he coats it, masks it with the set of his jaw.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses, pushing past his sister and grabbing Clarke’s arm. He pulls her inside and leans out, scanning his street up and down before coming back in and slamming the door behind him.

“Jesus, Clarke.”

“ _Clarke_?” Octavia’s eyes widen and her smirk along with it. It matches her brother’s almost identically.

“Shut it, O.”

She purses her lips, an effort to swallow the smile on her face but her eyes are lit up with mischief and curiosity. A look passes between the Blake siblings, a warning from Bellamy and amusement from Octavia. Clarke doesn’t know what but something is known here and she’s dying to be a part of it.

“Apologies,” Octavia directs at Clarke. “I’ve clearly misspoke.”

Misspoke? About what? Clarke re-runs their conversation between them quickly in her head but she doesn’t get time to catch on to what she means because Bellamy is leading her through his house, away from Octavia.

His house is plainly furnished but a few photos decorate the walls. Clarke tries to get a glimpse of them but they’re moving too quickly. He closes the door behind them once they’re in his bedroom and Clarke finally gets a moment to take in details.

His room is tidy and the lamp on his bedside locker is on, lighting up the room enough to see it. There’s a double bed pressed against the wall, unmade with a book discarded on the covers. There’s a few floating shelves on the opposite wall, filled with an array of books. His bag from school is slumped beside his desk and his walls are dark blue in colour. What catches her attention is the picture stuck to the wall above his bed, the white paper contrasting starkly against the blue.

It’s _her_ drawing. The one she sketched of him. The one he took home the day she got imprinted. Heat pools in her stomach, burning its way up into her chest. He kept it — more than that, he displayed it. Her drawing is right above his bed, where he can see it all the time. She turns to find him watching her, but the fondness he usually holds for her in his eyes isn’t there.

“So,” she breaks the silence. “Octavia. She’s…spirited.”

“What the hell were you thinking? Coming here?” he growls, ignoring her subject of conversation. “It’s almost dark outside.”

Clarke furrows her brow in confusion. “It’s hours away from curfew.”

“That’s not the point, Clarke.” He pushes off the door, shoving his curls back harshly with his hand. “You said you heard of this place. I told you the story about why I got imprinted.”

“I didn’t think—”

“That’s right,” he cuts her off, spinning to face her. The fire in his eyes is hard to miss, even in the dim lighting. “You didn’t think. Even without everything going on right now, this was a dangerous move.”

Clarke is getting annoyed now, stemming from a place of hurt. “I came here for you. To see if you were okay.”

“I’m a big boy, Clarke,” he rumbles.

“Yeah?” Clarke steps into his space. “Well I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

He huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “Haven’t we had this argument already?”

She bites back her reply. They’ve had this argument more times than she cares to count. Her insisting that she doesn’t need protecting and him promising her that he wouldn’t be doing it. It never ends up like that.

She loses her train of thought then. Up this close, Clarke can see a small cut on his eyebrow. Fuck. Her heart splinters and the anger dissipates for a moment. Worry takes its place. She reaches out her fingers to touch it but he pulls his head back, clenching his jaw.

“I’m fine, Clarke.”

She stares at him, the hurt of him pulling away from her touch engraving into her skin further. Her anger flares again. “Didn’t look that way from where I was standing.”

He sighs, frustrated. “Stop.”

“Did you tell Murphy and the others to take me?”

He snaps his head to her. “Damn right I did. You were in danger.”

“Fuck, Bellamy.” She bites her lip. “ _You_ were in danger. You made us leave you there with a swarm of students seeking revenge. With the security guards baton around your throat.”

His eyes never leave hers. “And what would you have done if you stayed? Got hurt again? I was protecting you.”

“This needs to stop, Bellamy. You keep putting your life before mine.” She shakes her head at him. “I came here because I wanted to see if you’re okay. If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not getting one.”

The silence that falls over the room is deafening. A humourless smirk cracks on his lips after a moment and he nods at her mark. “You think you’re hard now? Seasoned and rough because you’ve been imprinted?”

Clarke keeps her eyes trained on him under her brows, her hands on her hips.

He takes a step towards her. “You think people around here give a damn about that goddamn tattoo?”

She doesn’t take a step back, despite Bellamy coming closer. She cocks her chin up, no fear inside her anymore. Not with him.

“I know a guy around here who has killed people before he turned 12. A girl who shot her father because he pissed her off,” he tells her, his voice rumbling across the air. “They don’t need a mark to prove they’re dangerous.”

Bellamy is so close now that she can feel his breath on her face. They’re in the middle of arguing and she has her back up with him, but fuck, she wants him to lean in and close the space between them.

“And you know the kicker? All of them tested negative for the gene. That’s how I know Pike’s theories are full of shit.” Bellamy shakes his head. “Those people see that mark and get insulted, see it as a challenge.”

“I’m not an idiot, Bellamy,” Clarke says. “It’s not like I would have started anything with them to prove it but I swear, I can handle myself better than you think.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy tilts his head. Suddenly, he grabs her wrist and crowds her against his door. Clarke’s breathing gets deeper, the scent of him encompassing her. “What would you have done if they did this?”

His nose is pressed against her cheek, his voice vibrating off her skin. It sets the goosebumps off on her arms and her stomach swoops — what is it with him like this? Why does she _like_ him this dominating with her? It pried a similar reaction out of her when he tried to stop her screaming in his rover that night.

Clarke tries to pull her arm away but it’s futile. Maybe it’s because she knows he’s trying to prove a point, that he’s not really trying to hurt her — or maybe it’s because she has a point to prove herself, but she manovers her foot around the back of his leg and pushes him. He falls backwards and she grins, satisfied. He follows her movement, watching her step around him.

“Don’t underestimate me.”

A slight smirk slips through his expression. He quirks a brow, a challenge there. This has turned into a game now, a game they both want to play.

He advances on her again until the back of her legs are against his mattress. As Clarke sinks down, he follows her and places his knees either side of her hips. When he leans forward, his breath crashes with hers.

She’s never been more turned on in her life. The weight of his body is a comfort and she wants him closer, as close as she can possibly get him.

“What about now?” he rumbles lowly, pinning her wrists over her head easily with one hand. “What would you do now?”

Clarke can’t even hide how her breath stutters. Her voice comes out shot. “Depends on who’s doing it.”

Bellamy’s eyes darken. He’s so close to her lips, ghosting over them like he’s trying to tease her. She considers arching up to meet his hips, leaning forward to capture his mouth with hers. There’s a burning sensation in her lower stomach, a fire only he can quench.

“Don’t look at me like that, Princess,” he rasps, sounding as wrecked as she does.

“Like what?” she whispers.

His gaze sweeps over her. “Like you want—”

“Bellamy!” A voice calls out through the house. “I’m home. You guys hungry? I have takeout.”

Bellamy drops his head to Clarke’s, resting it there as the moment fades out between them. Clarke closes her eyes, disappointed at being interrupted.

“That’s my mom,” he almost groans.

Clarke giggles as he eases himself off her. “I figured.”

He blows out a breath as she sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Clarke bumps her shoulder against his, sitting side by side with him on his bed. “I should go anyway. It’s not really safe around here.”

Bellamy gives her a side glare. “Funny, Princess.”

Blood is still pounding through her body, hot and fast. God, her heart will never slow down. What would have happened if his mom hadn’t come home? Would he have kissed her? Would it have went further?

The possibility excites her, makes her yearn for it.

They stand and it hits Clarke then that she’s not sure when she’ll see him next. She worries her lip. “You think we’ll be back at Polis by Monday?”

“I don’t think so,” Bellamy says softly.

“You think we’ll graduate?”

“I think school is probably done for a while.”

He looks just as disappointed by this as she feels. She tucks her short hair behind her ear, nodding.

“You won’t get into trouble for the fight yesterday?”

”Doubt it,” Bellamy mumbles. “Sydney has enough to worry about right now.”

”Okay,” Clarke breathes. At least that’s something.

Bellamy must sense the sadness in her at being separated, uncertain of what lies ahead for them. He sighs. “Come here.”

He pulls her in for a hug. She goes easily and inhales the smell of him, closing her eyes to take it in fully. He says it’s not safe here but he’s wrong. She doesn’t feel safe anywhere else.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers into the crown of her head, his thumb drawing circles on her shoulder.

Clarke isn’t sure if he really believes that or not but she accepts the comfort anyway. Their embrace doesn't break for a long minute and when it does, it’s immediately missed. Bellamy offers her a small smile and leads her out of his room.

In the kitchen, his mom is busy setting out plates for their food. Octavia is already sitting at the dining table, digging in with no decorum. Their mother looks like them, pretty and bright eyed.

“Oh, Bellamy,” she says, staring at Clarke when she notices her standing at the door. “I didn’t know you had company.”

Octavia is wearing a shit-eating grin and Clarke doesn't miss how Bellamy shoots her a glare before looking back to his mother. “This is Clarke, mom.”

“Clarke.” His mother smiles warmly. “Will you stay for some food? There’s plenty.”

“No, thank you.” Clarke smiles back politely. “I gotta head home. But maybe next time.”

She catches Bellamy shifting his gaze to her, a soft smile on his face. His mother nods and bids her goodnight. Octavia even gives a small wave.

“Next time, huh?” Bellamy says once they’re on the porch.

“Well, I mean, only if you want.” Clarke smirks playfully.

Bellamy mirrors it. “I’ll collect you _next time_.”

Clarke ducks her chin against her shoulder, watching him as she walks towards Wells’ jeep. “You got it.”

“Be safe, Princess.”

She takes a couple of steps before turning back. “Oh, and thank you, for protecting me yesterday.”

Bellamy lifts his head, nodding once. “Always.”

 _Always_. Before, he told her he couldn’t do that for her, couldn’t be her bodyguard. Now, things are very different. He’s much more than that.

She slips inside the jeep, her heart still tripping in her chest. Bellamy watches her until she pulls out of his drive and stays in her rearview mirror until she pulls out onto the main road.

 _Fuck_. She blows out a long breath. That man will be the death of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	11. Innocence and Sadness Was a Fine Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Puts fingers in ears* la la la la la. This weeks episode didn't happen. It ended with their hug in s6, remember?  
> In all seriousness, just know that nothing that happens in canon will ever change what happens in fics. These stories are here for you to return to, re-read and fall in love with all over again. Screw them. We're telling our own damn story.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Steady, Rhythm, Joy - Dermot Kennedy  
> (This song is actually unreleased, he just leaked a snippet of it on his Instagram and I'm in love already.)
> 
> I’m dedicating this chapter to one of my readers, @nora_grace, who asked me to post a chapter for her birthday on the 7th but i missed the comment 😭 belated happy birthday, love ❤️

* * *

_Monday, May 8, 2023_ . _More than 65,000 registered carriers._

**Transcript of FBI Interrogation with John Mbege (Shooter in the Ark mall culling)**

_Agent Cartwig:_ Why did you do it?

 _John Mbege_ : Do what?

 _Agent Cartwig_ : Don’t even try this, Mr. Mbege. We’ve confiscated your computer, your phone. We know you and your classmate at Polis congregated with other carriers to carry out the largest mass shooting this state has ever seen.

 _John Mbege_ : The largest? Good to know we’ve made an impression.

 _Agent Cartwig_ : I’ll repeat my question. Why did you do it?

 _John Mbege_ : Why not?

 _Agent Cartwig_ : Do you have any remorse? 101 people are dead, 48 injured.

 _John Mbege_ : We were aiming for higher but we didn’t pack enough rounds.

 _Agent Cartwig_ : You’re a monster.

 _John Mbege_ : So everyone keeps saying, even before the shooting. It’s good to know they were right, isn’t it?

* * *

The tension in the house since the Ark culling can’t be ignored. Clarke has spent the weekend doing whatever she can to soothe her family. It’s obvious they’re all stressed.

She offers her mother a reassuring smile whenever she sees her staring, worried thoughts circling her mind. On Saturday night, she played chess with Wells and even let him win. If the quirk of his eyebrow was any indication, he knew she was going easy on him. On Sunday morning, she tidied Thelonious’ office for him. Maybe it was something to distract herself, too. Clarke just thinks that if she keeps in good spirits, keeps being strong, her family won’t be as nervous. 

She’s gone from being so fragile over all of this, so wrapped up in despair, to being the one that’s holding them all up. Of course she’s concerned about where it’s going to go from here but what can she do? She’s in this now and as Bellamy said, there’s no running from it.

No matter how much she has tried though, the mood in the house doesn’t lift. It also doesn’t help that the faces of the shooters are displayed on every television channel around-the-clock. Clarke settles herself on an island stool, looking at the television above the kitchen counter. The shooters look about her age, some a little older. It shakes her to her core to see Dax and Mbege’s mugshots, two people who she was up close and personal with. Four out of six of the shooters are imprinted, the circled ‘D’ on their necks bigger and darker in their pictures.

Clarke touches her own absentmindedly, wishing she didn’t have something that links her to them. She could never shoot someone, never inflict that pain on another individual. Yet she has a mark on her neck that says she’s liable to do that. It sickens her.

“Tea?” Wells offers, coming into the kitchen and switching on the light.

Clarke blinks at the sudden brightness and it’s only then that she realises how dark it’s gotten outside. “Sure.”

Wells flicks on the kettle and turns around, leaning his hip against the counter. “Thought you’d be back at school today.”

“Doubt we’ll be doing much of anything until they sort out this mess.” She nods at the television behind him.

“It’s Monday. How long do they need to make a decision?” Wells sighs.

Clarke can see his frustration a mile off. It’s not coming from impatience, though, it’s stress. He’s not worried about _when_ they’ll make a decision, he’s worried about _what_ the decision will be. What are they going to do about carriers now? The pressure from the public is overwhelming. Justice is being demanded for the culling, safety is being questioned and the fate of carriers is on the line.

“It’ll be okay,” Clarke tells him, a relaxed smile on her face. She doesn’t really believe it but God, she wants to take that weight off Wells’ shoulders. “ _I’ll_ be okay.”

Wells smiles back at her but his eyes are scrunched up in confusion. “What’s with you? At the start of all of this, I had to force you to promise me that you wouldn’t give up. What’s making you so strong all of a sudden?”

Clarke ducks her head, the answer to that springing to mind all too quickly. _Bellamy_. He’s her strength in all of this. Even though their future is daunting and uncertain, she just has a strange feeling that everything will be okay. He gives that to her.

“Oh.” Wells smiles knowingly. “It’s that guy, right? The one who called over after you were imprinted.”

Clarke looks up, studying her brother. “You saw him that night?”

Wells nods, folding his arms. There’s a smug smirk on his lips. “I saw him when he was leaving. Looks dangerous.”

“So do I,” Clarke says defensively, gesturing to the mark on her neck.

“Clarke.” Wells chuckles. “I’m kidding. If he’s able to make you feel this good about everything, then I admire him. None of us were able to do that.”

Clarke leans back on her stool, happiness flooding her at his approval. “Don’t sell yourself short. You were a close second.”

“Second place?” Wells thinks about it. “I’ll take that.”

They both laugh and just like that, the air in the house seems just a little bit lighter. For a few seconds, at least.

“Turn that up.” Thelonious thunders into the kitchen, pointing at the television. Clarke’s mother is on his heel, a little grey in the face.

Wells grabs the remote and increases the volume. The president is on the screen, standing in front of a bunch of reporters who are waiting desperately to hear what he has to say. _This is it._

Clarke stands, even though her legs are feeling weak, and steps closer to the screen. Numbness washes over her and she finds it hard to concentrate on what he’s saying. He goes on about the massive tragedy and loss the country experienced on Thursday. He talks about prayers for the victims and there’s a moment of silence, she thinks. She really doesn’t zone back in until he starts talking about HTS.

“...for the protection of this great nation, the time has come to give full and direct attention to the threat that carriers and HTS pose to us all. We can’t afford to have another occurrence like last week.”

There’s a pregnant pause while the president looks out to the audience in front of him. Clarke’s heart is hammering in her chest and everybody in the kitchen is holding their breaths.

“Detention of all carriers is now being made mandatory. After review, it has become of utmost necessity—”

“Mom,” Clarke murmurs. “What does he mean?”

Everything fades out. There’s a ringing in her ears. She understands his words but fuck, this doesn’t feel real. Out of all the possibilities, this didn’t seem like the probable option. Her mother’s gaze is fixed on the television and her breathing is laboured. Clarke can’t even look at Thelonious or Wells.

“Charles Pike’s Agency, in conjunction with the Department of Justice, Homeland Security and FEMA, are mobilizing as we speak to amass all registered carriers throughout the country and transfer them to suitable locations. It is no small undertaking but everyone is committed to ensuring that no further harm can come from—”

Clarke watches the president’s mouth move but she goes deaf to anything else being said. She floats back in time and she’s hearing Emerson’s words again before she was imprinted.

_“We’re going to be bigger than the CIA. There’ll be carrier prisons in every state. Your kind won’t be allowed to run riot any longer.”_

It’s clear now. This plan was in motion long before the Ark culling. This was always going to come, she just didn’t realise it then.

Any strength she has vanishes because fuck, whereever they’re going to be sent, there’s no guarentee that Bellamy will be there with her. They could be put in different locations. _They could be separated_. Clarke’s heart splits in two. How can this be happening? She needs him, they can’t do this.

A scream brings her back to reality. She blinks, watching Wells wrestle the television off the wall above the counter while her mother yells his name. Thelonious is trying to grab him, contain him, but it doesn’t stop him.

The television crashes to the floor while he howls with rage, his chest heaving from the exertion. Clarke looks from the sparking screen to her brother who is stepping towards her with determination.

“I’ll help you,” he pants. “We can run, Clarke.”

A strange calm comes over her now. Her voice is a mere whisper when she speaks. “Where would we go, Wells?”

“Anywhere! We could—”

“I’m in the national registry,” she tells him, echoing Bellamy’s words. She’s already had this idea. “I’m wearing an imprint on my neck. There’s no border I could cross, no plane I could board.” She takes a breath. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

Wells’ lip stiffens and Clarke wonders how many times HTS is going to break them. Will it keep going until there’s only tiny pieces left of her family?

“We can’t just let this happen!” Wells roars, looking from Clarke to her mother, his eyes pleading with her for support — or a solution.

Her mom offers neither. She just stares straight ahead, her features withdrawn and pale. Thelonious is leaning against the counter, his hand over his mouth. Clarke has to be strong for them. She gathers every bit of courage she has left and takes Wells' hand in hers, giving him a sad smile.

“No running, Wells. I have to stay. I have to play the game.”

He pauses for a moment, searching her eyes like he’s looking for any other possibility. When he can’t find any, he steps back until he collides with the kitchen wall. A choked cry erupts from his chest and his eyes fill with tears. Clarke has to swallow thickly as she watches him slide down the wall until he hits the floor. Wells covers his scrunched face with his hands, wailing uncontrollably into them.

Clarke feels every single sob like a knife stab to her heart.

* * *

Within an hour of the president’s announcement, Diana Sydney calls and informs Clarke that she will be contacted as soon as they’re ready with information regarding her future location. She’s also told that she’s under house arrest until then.

It should scare her that she can’t even leave her house now but it doesn’t. Not when she’s about to be shoved into some kind of isolation dome for carriers. They’re calling them camps but Clarke can read between the lines. They’re carrier prisons, just like Emerson said. They might not be confined to cells but damn it, they certainly won’t be allowed come and go as they please.

Clarke goes to bed finding herself void of whatever she’s supposed to be feeling about all of this. All she’s panicking about is that she can’t talk to Bellamy about it. After the whirlwind of passion and sexual tension between them the other night, Clarke was so flustered that she forgot to ask about his phone number. And now, she can’t even drive over to see him.

What if they’re sent to different camps? What if she never gets to see him again? How will she survive without him? It’s not about needing him to protect her or even needing a familiar face — it’s that she’s so fucking in love with him and now, he might be lost to her forever. Both of them pulled apart before they could ever really begin.

It broke her to witness Wells’ breakdown. It tore her to shreds to see the way her mother had to hold onto Thelonious so she didn’t fall. It makes her nervous to think about where she’ll end up. But being without Bellamy? It would destroy her.

He must have his own concerns, too. All carriers are being transferred, that means his sister will be included in that bracket. He must be going out of his mind with worry.

Clarke drifts off to sleep with tears on her pillow, aching for a hug off Bellamy.

In the coming days, every time the phone rings, Wells flinches. Her mother jumps and Thelonious freezes, his eyes on whoever is answering like they’re about to shoot him. The days roll into a week and Clarke moves around in a fog, knowing that they haven’t forgotten about her — it’s just a matter of time.

She’s sure her heart will come out of her shirt thinking about Bellamy. She’s already heard of carriers from the same town being sent to different camps, it just depends on their selection. They are trying to separate the imprinted ones as best they can, make it more manageable for camp guards. Part of her has accepted that she won’t see him again.

Clarke wonders if he’s thinking about her, worrying about her fate as much as she’s worrying about his. Was she really that naive that she thought that they’d be together for her next birthday? That they could go back to their fields of golden buttercups and spend the day just enjoying one another’s company. In light of what’s happened, she realises that was never going to be a possibility. If it wasn’t the Ark culling, it would be something else. Every carrier's time was placed into an hourglass, she just never realised that the sand was slipping out so quickly.

The media shows constant footage of carriers — being forced onto buses, taken away from their families, protest rallies against what’s happening, car chases of runners.

There was one piece that stuck with her in particular. A carrier from New York tried to escape with his family but was quickly discovered. He used to be an elementary school teacher but he lost his job because of HTS. According to the reporter, he wasn’t imprinted but “still dangerous”. The news followed them from the air, showing viewers how the cops chased him for fifteen minutes until his car cascaded off a bridge. The explosion rattled the cameras, even from the air. They all died. Him, his wife and their two young children.

The media exploited it, wrote headlines like “another carrier claims more lives.” Clarke felt like she was the only one who could see it for what it really was: desperation. He didn’t want to leave his family.

Clarke dreamt about it that night, except she was driving the car. Flames licked at her skin, swallowing her up completely. In her dream, her family were standing outside the car. They were screaming for someone to help her but they made no move to do anything. She gets it. It's like that in real life too. They’re sidelined with no power, watching her entire life go up in flames.

She comes into the kitchen where Wells is watching television. All evidence of the one he broke is gone and a new one is in its place. She wishes everything in life was that easy to fix.

There’s some protest going on in front of the White House. People are waving posters and making speeches into megaphones. Police are there on horseback, trying to stop riots from erupting. Clarke is grateful that there are people out there who aren’t carriers that are trying to help, but she’s just so sick of it all.

“Is there anything else on?” she mutters, pulling open the fridge to get a bottle of water.

Wells says nothing but clicks the remote, switching it to a reporter who is standing outside one of the detention camps. It used to be a sports camp that ran over the summer but now, it’s transformed into Camp 19 for carriers. There are tents set up behind her and people are running around getting it ready. She’s saying something about how this particular camp can house up to 400 carriers.

Clarke assumes she’ll be sent to somewhere similar whenever they get around to her. She leans against the island, observing the barbed wire fences around the perimeter of camp. Guards with guns can be seen standing on the outside of it. In one section, there’s a concrete wall with more wire coiled on top of it. Looks ideal for their kind.

It’s just one of the camps popping up overnight, trying to meet the demand of the nation. There will be many more. Clarke's chest constricts and she wishes she could talk to Bellamy about all of this. He’d know what to say to calm her down.

“Guess this is all they show now,” Wells jokes, turning off the television completely. He must see Clarke’s face because he gets up, walking over to her. “Hey?”

“I’m fine, Wells,” she snaps, determined to stay strong. She’s irritated at herself for letting her guard slip.

But then she looks up and sees the hurt break across his eyes. Fuck, she feels wretched. There’s no guide of how long she has left here with them. So she leans in and gives him a hug, inhaling deeply and trying to memorize his smell. He squeezes her back and she wonders if this is the last time she’ll hug her brother.

When they pull away, she studies his features. His eyes are darker than Bellamy’s and his lips are fuller. He looks peaky under his eyes but his skin is smooth. She stores those details to memory, wondering when she’ll see him again once they take her.

Will she ever see her family again? When will she taste her mom’s cooking or watch sport with Thelonious? Will she die in those camps or will she be allowed home at Christmas?

Her throat closes up, suffocating any strength out of her for a brief moment.

“Look after them for me?” she cracks out.

Wells closes his eyes, pulling her back against him. “I will, Clarke. Don't worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

* * *

The knock on the door finally arrives.

It’s Thursday, almost a week and a half after the president’s announcement. Clarke is no more ready than she was back then.

When she pulls open the door, she expects Diana Sydney to be standing there but it’s not. It’s a woman in a sleek pantsuit that fits well. Her hair is pulled back into a braid and her eyes are tough, almost threatening. Except Clarke isn’t afraid of her. She’s intrigued — this is a person who knows what she’s doing.

She outstretches her hand and Clarke raises an eyebrow. Diana never wanted to touch her, as if she could catch HTS off her.

“Charmaine Diyoza.” The woman introduces herself when Clarke takes her hand and she steps aside, inviting her in.

When Clarke closes the door, she notices that her mother and Wells have congregated in the hall behind her. Thelonious is at work so at least he’s missing the news of her impending departure. Wells is leaning against the stairs, his eyes following the stranger in their home.

“Should we address you as Agent Diyoza?” he blurts rudely. Clarke can see why. She looks like official government.

Charmaine just smiles. “No, but you can call me Colonel if you prefer. Most just call me Diyoza.”

 _Colonel_. She’s military?

“You must be Clarke,” Diyoza redirects her attention.

Clarke cocks her chin up, nodding slightly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Or read, rather.”

“Really?” Clarke adopts Wells’ demeanor. “And what have you read?”

“A few things,” Diyoza tells her. “Mainly that you’re a very accomplished young lady.”

Clarke scrunches her nose up. Not about how she’s an imprinted carrier? A potential killer?

“I’ve seen your grades and your admission piece for Sanctum was particularly good.” Diyoza nods in approval. “Impressive.”

She’s seen her artwork for Sanctum? What else does she know about Clarke?

“Would you like something to drink, Colonel?” her mother offers, ever polite.

“No thank you, Mrs. Griffin,” Diyoza says casually, flicking open her folder and pulling out a sheet of paper. “I have a few other houses to visit in the area today.”

A few other houses? Clarke’s heart speeds up. She wonders if they are anyone she knows from Polis. Raven, Murphy, Monty... _Bellamy_?

“This is a contract for you to attend a government-managed training camp,” Diyoza says as she hands the sheet of paper to Clarke. “It’s not a detention camp, as such.”

“I don’t understand,” Wells pipes up. “Does that mean Clarke doesn’t have to attend one of those camps on TV?”

“Not if she doesn’t want to,” Diyoza says simply.

Clarke scans the page, the words blurring together. She can’t take it in properly.

“How is it different?” her mother asks, bewildered.

“In lieu of a detention camp, Clarke can receive specialized training,” Diyoza says, placing her hands behind her back in true military style. “Only a select number of carriers are receiving invitations to the program.”

“What kind of special training?” her mother follows up.

“For how long?” Wells cuts in.

“Instructors, including Charles Pike, will train Clarke to better channel her _destructive tendencies_.”

The way Diyoza says that makes Clarke’s eyes snap up. It’s like she doesn’t truly believe she has those. Also, it’s piqued her interest that Charles Pike will be over this camp in particular. What interest does he have in training carriers for something positive?

“They’ll be given the tools to learn how to function in society, how to follow orders and serve their country,” Diyoza tells her mother but she looks at Clarke. “This was my idea and I’ll be honest, Clarke. I want you in it.”

“So you’re over the whole thing?” Clarke asks hopefully. Diyoza seems different than the others, somehow.

“Kind of.” Diyoza smiles confidently. “Technically, this is Charles Pike’s project. But I got around him for this.”

“Will you be there?” Clarke’s voice is smaller than she intended when it comes out.

Sympathy flashes in Diyoza’s eyes briefly. “As much as I can. I have other commitments.”

“Why Clarke?” Wells’ voice comes through again and when Clarke looks at him, he’s watching Diyoza with narrow eyes.

“Your sister is an exceptional student,” Diyoza says, studying Wells with interest. “We’re looking for young carriers who have shown promise before HTS. Who possess skills and qualities that we can optimize.”

“Sounds a lot like a dog going to obedience school,” Wells mutters.

“ _Wells_ ,” her mother corrects him. “They’re offering her salvation. Something other than a detention camp.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Griffin.” Diyoza smiles, her eyes still on Wells.

“You never answered my question.” Wells straightens himself. “How long will she be gone?”

Clarke hears his real question: _Will she ever come home?_

“However long necessary for her to reach a level where she can be assigned a duty and perform it with adequate success,” Diyoza tells him, a glint in her eye.

“And what if I can’t?” Clarke hears herself ask, although she doesn’t really want to know.

“Then, you’ll be sent to one of the detention camps,” Diyoza replies. “It’s not a fate I would choose, if I were you.”

In other words: don’t fail.

Silence spreads across the hallway and Clarke worries her lip. This isn’t what she was expecting. It all seems too easy. Something else has to be at play here and unfortunately, she doesn’t have the knowledge or the time to ponder it properly.

“I need an answer before I leave, Clarke,” Diyoza presses her, checking her watch. “Which is it? Detention camp or with me?”

There’s no real choice, is there? She doesn't consult with her mother or Wells because are they really going to suggest sending her to a detention camp instead? Clarke nods at Diyoza. “Do you have a pen?”

Diyoza smiles, fishing for a pen in her bag. Clarke barely glances at Wells or her mother before signing the contract and handing it back to Diyoza. Everything feels rushed but she has no time to process her decision.

"Oh, and Wells?" Diyoza hands him a small card, presumably one with her phone number on it. "If you have any questions at all, please don't hesitate to contact me."

Wells checks the card and then snaps his gaze back up to her. "Your email is on this as well."

"Yes, it is." Diyoza smiles, sharing a look with him like they both know something Clarke doesn't. "I read every email that comes through and rest assured, I'm here to be as helpful as I can be."

Wells snaps his mouth shut and any sass he previously held seems to be gone. Clarke shoots him a questionable look but she doesn't get time to wonder about this either because Diyoza takes her attention.

“A van will collect you tomorrow between seven and eight. Be ready,” Diyoza tells her as she takes the contract back from Clarke. “You’re one of the chosen few out of a nationwide search. We narrowed it down to about 100. Consider yourself honoured.”

 _Honoured_? That’s definitely not a word that Clarke would use to describe her life lately.

It suddenly sinks in that 100 carriers out of the rising numbers right now isn’t many. Could Bellamy be one of them? Clarke has to know. She can’t wait until tomorrow to find out if he was one of the other carriers in the area that Diyoza is visiting. She has to know that he’s not going to be behind that barbed wire fence, that he’s not going to be shipped off to some detention camp with the rest of the carriers. She has to know if she’s ever going to see him again.

“Who else?” Clarke blurts out just as Diyoza turns to leave. She looks back over her shoulder, staring at Clarke who probably looks like a wide-eyed maniac. “Who else are you taking?”

Clarke can see Wells studying her curiously out of the corner of his eye. She doesn’t care though. Her heart is tripping in her chest at the thoughts of Bellamy not coming with her.

Diyoza turns back to her properly. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

That’s not good enough. Clarke can’t wait. She needs to know now. “It’s just — you said you had other carriers to visit in the area. Anyone from Polis?”

A look of humour arises in Diyoza's expression, eyeing Clarke with interest. “Who do you _want_ to be on the list, Clarke?”

Heat grows across her face. She knows her mother and Wells are watching her and she feels cornered. Does she tell Diyoza the truth or would it just knock Bellamy off the list if he was on it? Would they make sure he wasn’t included just to spite her? She can’t figure out Agency rationale. They certainly have never helped her in the past. For some reason, Diyoza seems different though, almost trustworthy — so Clarke decides to lean into it.

“They must be pretty important to you,” Diyoza says, a flatness to her tone like her statement doesn’t need any confirmation.

Clarke swallows. “He is.”

“What’s his name?” Diyoza asks, taking out her list.

“Bellamy,” Clarke gives her. “Bellamy Blake.”

Diyoza scans the page but her face gives nothing away. It’s probably only been a few seconds but time stretches out for an eternity. Clarke’s stomach has dropped about five times and her palms are beginning to sweat.

“Look. If I’m on that list, he’s on that list,” she says, unable to wait anymore. Maybe that means giving up her place but she realises she doesn’t want to go without him anyway.

Diyoza looks up, curiosity filling her features. She closes her folder. “As I said. You’ll see tomorrow.”

With that, Diyoza leaves her standing in the hallway, no wiser to Bellamy’s fate than she was before. Her heart sinks in her chest and it takes every ounce of strength left in her not to fall to her knees.

It was never a possibility before but fuck, all Clarke wants to do is run. She knows it's futile but right now, she's not thinking logically. All she wants to do is drive to Bellamy's house and grab him.

They could run to the woods somewhere, live like heathens and learn to survive in the wild. They'd make their own home out there and they'd be together. That's all that would matter. A tear escapes her eye but she doesn't bother to wipe it away. Wells comes over and puts a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. She closes her eyes tight, shuddering out a rattled breath.

Running is not an option. She knows that. All she can do is wait until tomorrow. Have hope.

When Clarke goes to bed that night, she dreams of Bellamy instead of burning cars. It's a simple one but it's beautiful. They're living in a cave somewhere in the mountain side. HTS doesn't matter out there and the Agency can't find them, their own corner of the universe.

In her dream, she's standing outside watching him come home to her after a day of hunting. His hair is messy and there's a crooked smile on his face. A spear is balanced on his shoulder and there's a bag of game swinging by his leg. He smirks at her and leans in for a kiss when he reaches home.

And God, _home is so damn sweet_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very pleased (and shocked) to announce that this fic and some of my others have been nominated in the [Bellarke Fic Awards](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com). All of the category nominations haven't been released yet but so far, I've had 30 nominations if I've counted correctly.  
>  **This fic has been nominated 10 times** in an array of different categories so far and I just want to say, if you've nominated them, I love you forever. Thank you all so much.
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	12. Touch Me and Then Turn Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Hanging On - Ellie Goulding
> 
> I just want to say that the comments I receive on this fic actually make me scream and I think about them for hours. You guys are the absolute best.

* * *

_Friday, May 19, 2023_. _More than 80,000 registered carriers._

**Phone call from the United States chief of staff to Charles Pike:**

_Titus:_ The president has given you your detention camps and now this damn training camp, Pike?

 _Charles_ : A member of my council advised it and to be honest, I’ve seen an opportunity with the idea.

 _Titus_ : You just better be right about it.

 _Charles_ : I assure you, if nothing else, this camp will prove what they are.

* * *

The van pulls up a little after half seven and Clarke swallows thickly, scanning the blacked-out windows in the back for any hint of who else is inside.

She barely slept last night, troubled with the thoughts of Bellamy not being on the list. What would that even mean for her? This can’t just be it. He can’t have crashed into her life like a hurricane only to dissipate into thin air again. He’s left lasting damage, permanent destruction that caused her to rebuild her world completely differently in his wake. And now, she doesn’t know how to exist in it without him.

“They’re here,” Clarke calls, still looking at the van through the dining room window.

Diyoza steps out, adjusting her suit jacket as she walks towards the house. Clarke releases a shuddering breath. Time to go.

Her mother answers the door when the bell chimes and Thelonious emerges from his office, dark bags under his eyes. His lip almost quivers when he looks at Clarke. She knows this is hard for him.

“Colonel,” her mother greets Diyoza who nods at them all in return.

“When you’re ready, Clarke.”

That’s her cue. Diyoza walks back towards the van while Clarke turns to give Wells a hug. He’s leaning against the stairs and she notes he has been unusually quiet this morning. A lump forms in her throat as he holds out his arms and she falls into them. God, this is harder than she thought it would be.

“You got this,” he assures her, his voice steady with a newfound confidence. “Just do what you need to do in there to survive. I’ll take care of everything on the outside.”

Clarke pulls back, checking his face. She knows he means looking after their parents but in that moment, she’s sure he meant something more than that.

Her mother sweeps her up in an embrace immediately so she doesn’t get to think about it any further. The lavender aroma of her shampoo lodges in Clarke’s nose and she almost cries then. Almost.

“I’ll see you soon, honey,” her mom whispers in her ear.

They know no such thing, there’s no crystal ball to promise them that. But Clarke lets her say it anyway, nodding into her shoulder.

Thelonious is the hardest. When he hugs her, it’s so tight that she’s not sure if he’s going to let go. His shoulders are tense and his chest is frozen, like he’s holding a breath back — or a sob.

The van beeps and Clarke steps free, a buzzing sensation under her skin. She gives them all one last look before grabbing her bag that’s only half full with the bare necessities and then she’s walking towards her new life. She doesn’t look back because if she does, she knows she’ll break.

There’s a throbbing in her ears, her wrist, her neck — _everywhere_. It’s like her heart has broken into several tiny pieces and is now beating wherever they’ve fallen around her body. If Bellamy isn’t in that van, she’s sure she’ll turn back. The Agency will still take her though, forcibly remove her and shove her onto a bus like they’ve done to the carriers on television. Her destination will be a detention camp then, maybe one that Bellamy isn’t in. Fuck, she’s left with no choice at all.

As the van door slides open, the first person she sees is Murphy. He’s sitting on the bench behind the driver, smirking at Clarke like they’re on the way to some fun summer camp. As shit as Clarke feels, she can’t help but grin back.

“Cockroach, eh?”

Murphy huffs out a laugh, nodding in confirmation. “Cockroach.”

He’d survive no matter where they put him. How did he score a position here? Clearly, he’s full of secrets.

Diyoza takes Clarke’s bag as she hops inside and takes the seat beside Murphy. She swings around immediately, finding Monty sitting behind them. He gives her a small wave and a friendly smile. With each familiar face, her chest grows lighter. But as relieved as she is to see the two of them, it’s not who she’s looking for.

“Is this it?” she asks Murphy, almost breathless.

“I think we’re going to pick up Raven next but I know there’s only four of us on the manifest for this van,” he tells her, looking forward as the van engine hums to life.

 _Four_? No. This can’t be it.

Clarke’s chest rises and falls as she snaps her eyes ahead, connecting with Diyoza’s in the rearview mirror. She’s studying her, she realises — checking her reaction. Clarke knows she should at least pretend to have some decorum and not give herself away but fuck, she can’t. Besides, Diyoza’s already seen her hand. The cards are on the table for everyone to see.

Bellamy isn’t here and her response to that is nothing short of pathetic. Clarke grips the leather seat under her thighs, trying to force herself to stay sitting down when all she wants to do is run. Her lungs are blocked by a sob threatening to escape and she doesn’t think she can take it. Fuck. _Fuck_.

The driver beside Diyoza takes off, speeding them away from her family. This would be so much easier if Clarke knew Bellamy was coming with her.

“Hey.” Murphy nudges her side with his elbow. “Breathe.”

Monty leans forward, squeezing her shoulder from where he’s sitting. Clarke doesn’t know if they can sense _why_ she’s like this or if they just think it’s the overwhelming ordeal of it all, but either way, she’s glad to have them here.

* * *

Their group isn’t short of stares as Diyoza leads them through the airport. People clutch their children, others press themselves against the wall like they’re hoping to push themselves through it.

They met a further sixteen carriers in the parking lot and in total, seven of them bear the imprint. Guards flank them, armed with assault rifles. It seems any risk is covered.

Clarke sticks close to Murphy, Raven and Monty, seeking comfort in familiarity, and does her best not to look at the others. It’s not that she’s afraid of them, she just doesn’t need to be growing close to anyone else. Not when they’re so easily plucked away from her. She gets it now, why Bellamy tried to keep his distance. Love is weakness. That’s what he meant that night in his rover. It’s a dangerous thing to possess in a game like this.

As they approach their gate, Clarke focuses on her feet and just tries to put one in front of the other. It helps draw attention away from the suffocation of knowing she can’t leave. The anxiety bubbles across her chest, an indescribable sensation coursing through her veins. She’s panicking for a number of reasons but the primary one is that she has no idea what has become of Bellamy.

Where is he being sent? Is he okay? Did he put up a fight?

Each breath sounds as loud as thunder. She can’t do this. Fuck.

“Oh, thank God,” Raven mumbles beside her as they walk down the funnelled corridor. “Clarke.”

Her head shoots up and her gaze immediately lands on the very person she’s been thinking about. She inhales like a stutter.

Almost like time is moving in slow motion, she watches thick, dark curls turn in her direction in the centre of the waiting area ahead of them. Bellamy’s eyes connect with hers through the crowd of carriers, more of them congregated at the departure gate. The ‘D’ on the side of his neck is stark against his black t-shirt and his backpack is hanging off one shoulder.

“Bellamy,” she breathes, still a good distance away from him. She can’t read the look in his eyes but his shoulders visibly relax when he sees her and his lips part.

The relief pours over her like a cold shower and she has to grab Raven’s arm to steady herself. He’s here. Fuck, he’s here. A smile breaks across her lips and without any warning, tears spring to her eyes.

“You’re okay,” Raven reminds her, closing her hand over hers.

Each step brings her closer to him and his eyes are sharp on her, like he’s still taking her in. Every single carrier in the space fades into the air like dust until he’s the only one that remains. Her heart is banging like a drum but she just knows this will all be okay now.

Diyoza looks over her shoulder at Clarke, raising an eyebrow like she’s just delivered her to salvation. Maybe she has.

Everything feels right in that moment, the world correcting itself to a steady spin. That is until Bellamy’s jaw tightens and time slows down again. He tears his gaze away from her like she disgusts him and her heart falls right out of her chest.

She steps into the rounded room, carriers spilling out around her. Guards line the walls with guns and the lady who is waiting to board them onto the plane shifts on her feet at more carrier arrivals. Clarke can’t even absorb the others faces, can’t check how many of them have imprints. She wedges through them quickly, despite Raven trying to grab her hand.

“Clarke, wait up,” Monty calls after her.

She can’t. Tunnel vision has taken over and there’s a sinking sensation in her stomach, a foreboding feeling that something is wrong. She slips in and out through crowded bodies of carriers until she reaches the middle where Bellamy is standing.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly once she reaches him.

He towers over her, his broad stance demanding space from the others. None of them brush shoulders with him, almost like he’s untouchable. He doesn’t even look at her. The only way she’s sure that he heard her is the way his jaw ticks.

“Bellamy?”

“Clarke,” he confirms, the rumble of his voice barely audible above the conversations around them.

She furrows her brow, a desperation in her bones that yearns to know why he refuses to look at her now. How can she be so relieved to see him after the uncertainty of the last two weeks and he’s behaving like this? She re-runs their last interaction in her mind in case she did anything to upset him. No. He was all too keen to touch her then.

“You’re here,” she ends up saying, although the interaction feels foreign. She’s straightened in discomfort, reading that she’s not welcomed in his space.

He turns to look at her now, venom behind his eyes. “ _Yeah_. I am.”

His tone forces her to take a step back. She narrows her eyes, trying to figure him out. What the hell is going on?

“Bellamy,” Murphy calls, coming up behind her.

Raven and Monty follow in tow and Clarke watches how Bellamy’s demeanor completely changes. Tension and anger bleed from his body and he nods in greeting at their former classmates, looking happy to see them. Right. It’s just her then.

Clarke doesn’t take her eyes off him and he briefly glances at her before turning away again, paying attention to Diyoza who is calling their attention to the front of the room. She’s detailing the rules for the flight, such as nobody leaving their seats without permission or escorts. To be honest, a lot of it blurs into background noise in Clarke’s ears because all she can hear is the heavy thump of her heartbeat.

The dread has filled her up, extinguishing any relief she was experiencing. It feels like she’s meeting the old Bellamy, the one who teased her and distanced himself from her. Except now, his words and body language are tinged with anger. The looks they shared, the electrifying touches, the smiles, the prominent moments that defined them — they seem like long lost memories.

Clarke goes through the motions of boarding the plane, following the others like a robot but she can’t shake the feeling that has swallowed her up. She’s not paying enough attention because she walks straight into another carrier. The ‘D’ on his neck is as large as his muscles and when he speaks, he practically growls at Clarke.

“ _Watch it_.”

Bellamy glances over his shoulder in front of her. He checks the interaction but his gaze doesn’t linger. He turns back around and continues walking onto the plane slowly, shuffling behind the rest of the carriers.

“You okay?” Raven asks from behind her.

Clarke stiffens her lip, determined not to get upset in front of these people. They’re all being watched for vulnerability, both by Diyoza and the other carriers. Clarke is determined not to show any.

“Yeah.” She steel’s her tone. “I’m fine.”

* * *

The plane journey, although only a few hours long, was incredibly intimidating.

There was very little conversation and no in-flight announcements that Clarke had heard before on trips. They were seated alphabetically and on counting, Clarke noted there were about 60 of them, including the guards and Diyoza.

Luckily, she was sitting beside Monty. He kept quiet for the most part, seemingly doing exactly what Clarke was doing: observing. She couldn’t see Bellamy from where she was sitting but she knew he was somewhere at the front, brooding and soaking in his bad mood — one that seems to be centered around her.

They met with other carriers once they landed but Clarke hasn’t really had time to learn what any of them are really like. They were quickly ushered onto buses to speed towards their destination, away from civilisation. Not that it’s very civilised anymore.

It’s dark by the time they arrive at the camp. They enter through wired gates that are opened by the guards in the booth and Clarke reads the massive sign above them: _Mount Weather_. She blinks a couple of times, absorbing her new home in the flesh. The buses carry them through a dark road lined by thick trees. The dense forest around them looks ominous at this time of night, although she can’t imagine it looks any better during the day.

“We’re definitely not in the Valley anymore,” Monty mumbles from beside her.

Clarke half scoffs. That’s for sure.

They stop in the middle of an opening, dotted with tents as far as the eye can see. As soon as they emerge from the buses, they’re separated by gender. The boys on the left, the girls on the right. There’s a significant difference in balance there as she only counts about 30 girls. Out of all of them, only three are imprinted — Clarke included.

They face each other in straight lines, like they’re playing a game of Red Rover. Clarke watches Bellamy across from her, willing him to look up and meet her gaze. He never does. She swallows the ache in her throat, hating that she has no idea what’s going on.

Murphy and Monty stand beside him, staring at the guards who are organising the carriers. There’s no fight or defiance here, odd for people who are supposedly meant to be wild animals. All of them are just doing what they’re told. For now, at least.

Raven straightens herself beside her, tilting her chin upwards in confidence. On Clarke’s other side, there’s a timid looking girl with curious eyes and sandy hair. She doesn’t look dangerous at all. She’s wary of Clarke, though, judging by the way she refuses to even look at her. The imprint on her neck is deterring, she gets it. If only they knew how she actually got it. She decides that it’s useful enough in this environment. Hopefully people will try to give her a wide berth and just leave her alone.

Fire torches line the perimeter of their camp and she imagines there's exactly 100 tents placed throughout it. At the very end of the line of tents, there’s a large building that looks too run down for functioning. There’s a hole in the roof and vines are overgrown around the concrete. There are a few firepits scattered throughout the campsite with wooden logs around them, as if a bunch of carriers will be sitting there sharing sentimental stories. Doubtful.

The camp gates creak open, designed very differently than the main gates. For one, they’re made of wooden stakes and definitely don’t run off electricity. Clarke imagines this camp is very cost efficient. Why would they waste resources like that on carriers?

It’s easy to recognise Charles Pike when he walks through the gates, followed by two guards with the same guns they’ve been seeing all day. His head is smooth and shines from the light of the flames. He steps into the space between their two gender lines, seemingly no-man's-land except for him. The way his eyes scan them, Clarke is certain he’s sizing them all up.

“Welcome to the Dropship,” he announces, his voice full of authority.

Clarke squints at him, a hatred for the main already ingrained in her very being. He’s the reason HTS exists, the loudest shouter and lecturer of the whole thing. She wonders how extensive his research really was before he announced the gene as a fact for the world. She’s seen enough of him on television and in interviews to know how overly confident he is.

Diyoza stands beside the buses with the other guards, her hands behind her back. Even though she apparently came up with the idea for Mount Weather training camp, she clearly doesn’t have much say. This is all Pike, the way he wants it.

“You have all been chosen specifically for this camp but make no mistake, anybody who doesn’t perform adequately will be sent elsewhere,” Pike explains as he walks between them. “Your position is never guaranteed.”

Clarke swallows, holding her hands tightly behind her back. She knows what he’s saying: there’s no room for error. They have to give 100% all of the time.

“I don’t give a damn if you’re imprinted or considered a big shot in your hometown.” He holds himself strongly, his shoulders pulled tight. “Here, you will follow orders.”

The anxiety thrumming through Clarke’s body hasn’t subsided at all and Pike is doing little to quench it.

“You’ll be expected to cultivate your strengths and add additional ones. If you’re not bilingual, you’ll be expected to learn a different language,” he lists off, his hands behind his back as he bellows out the words. With each step, he walks past another carrier. His head flicks left to right, taking both lines in. “If you’re in poor physical condition, consider that temporary.”

He reaches Clarke and gives her a once over. “Your DNA already tells us that you can kill, but to succeed here, you must prove to us that you can control it.”

He moves on and Clarke lets out the breath she was holding. She gets what this is. They’re making soldiers out of them, using them for their own benefit in society. Clarke just doesn’t believe they have anything to control. Well, the carriers she knows, anyway.

“You will be trained and you will work hard. You will fight and work with one another.” Pike pauses at the end of their lines and turns around, addressing them all. “Above all else, you will follow every single instruction or risk failing.”

He starts walking back through them again and Clarke notes the gun on his hip. She wonders what kind of instruction they’ll be given, exactly.

“We’ll administer a schedule in the morning,” Pike goes on. “It will be followed religiously. There will be no tardiness. Training begins at dawn.”

“You’ll take part in compulsory counselling, as well,” Diyoza pipes up from behind them.

Clarke looks over her shoulder at her, wishing she could be here all the time. She’s not to be messed with but Clarke feels safer with her here.

“Yes.” Pike hums in response. “I’ve been told it will be beneficial, but we’ll see.”

It sounds like he’s not here for anything that will promote their wellbeing. Just things that will test them. Clarke feels more like a labrat in his presence, like they’re all just here to prove a point with him — like he _wants_ them to fail.

“You will have the option each evening for communal time. Believe me when I say that this is a _privilege,_ ” Pike enunciates. “One that will be removed if we run into any issues.”

“So how many chances do we get before we get kicked out?” a carrier asks, the one that Clarke bumped into at the airport and was almost slaughtered for it.

Pike levels him with a serious gaze, like out of turn talking isn’t well received. “Very little.”

Clarke looks up at Bellamy in that moment and catches him looking at her. He averts his stare quickly but it’s too late. She already saw him. Her heart skips a couple of beats but her stomach grows more nauseous. _Why_ won't he look at her properly?

“You each have your own tent. The camp grounds are heavily guarded at all times so there will be no late night wandering,” Pike tells them. “You’re all to be in your tents by 9pm and you will not leave them until dawn.”

Pike reaches the end of the line again, turning to face them all. “You have fifteen minutes. Get your belongings and find a tent before lights out.”

With that, the lines break. Carriers pool around the buses to collect their bags but Clarke makes a beeline over to Bellamy. She grabs his arm before he can disappear into the crowd.

“Bellamy.”

He turns and her heart aches with how he looks at her. “What?”

“What is going on with you?” she almost pleads, glancing around at the others who are passing them on their way to the bus.

He pulls her over a few paces, obviously realising that their conversation will be too easily overheard. When he talks, his voice is low. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

“What?” she breathes out, narrowing her eyes at him.

His shoulders stiffen as he leans in, checking around him before he speaks again. “I told you before, I’m _nothing_.”

Clarke’s face scrunches in confusion but she’s desperate to understand. She’s all too aware that Pike or the other carriers could tune into this so she knows she has to be quick. “I don’t—”

“Tell me I’m not here because you had something to do with it,” he cuts her off. “Because I know you’re the only one who would care enough.”

Her head grows dizzy at the realisation. She’s sure her complexion has paled. He doesn’t let up, his dark eyes focused on her. He’s inches away from her so they can whisper silently but Clarke feels overwhelmed by his presence.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he presses. “That Octavia isn’t halfway across the country in some detention camp without me because of you.”

Clarke almost gets sick. Oh God. Fuck. The look on her face must be all the clarification he needs. He steps back, shaking his head slowly.

“If anything happens to her,” he threatens, his voice firm and intimidating. “You and me are gonna have problems.”

He leaves Clarke standing there, storming off towards the bus that contains his bag. Fuck. She thought her heart was broken before but clearly, she was severely mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on. You know it's not one of my fics if there's not some angst in it. I get fed by it...there might be something wrong with me.
> 
> In regards to the [Bellarke Fic Awards](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com), after a final count, I've been nominated **51 times.** I'm absolutely blown away. You can see all my nominations [here](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100/status/1305778080296898561?s=20).  
> I just want to say a special thanks to you readers because "I Found Peace in Your Violence" has received 16 nominations in the following categories and I am beyond grateful:
> 
> best alternate universe fic (WIP)  
> best angst fic (WIP)  
> best romance fic (WIP)  
> best modern au  
> best fantasy au  
> best fusion/crossover au  
> best mutual pining fic  
> best slow burn fic  
> best enemies to lovers fic  
> best friends to lovers fic  
> best found family fic  
> if i had to convince someone to ship bellarke, i would send them *this* fic  
> most original idea  
> most memorable fic  
> most well-written fic  
> best worldbuilding
> 
>   
> Miranda's trailer also received a nomination in the awards, as did Bri's delinquent edits for this fic. I'm so proud but not surprised as they are both incredible. They deserve it ❤️
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	13. Welcome to the New Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Radioactive - Imagine Dragons (bringing it right back to S1 with this song, especially for this new camp)

* * *

_Saturday, May 20, 2023_. _More than 83,000 registered carriers._

**Facebook Instant Article:**

A strong connection between sugar and the HTS gene? Rethink your kids packed lunches!

* * *

Clarke discovers how unfit she is the next morning.

It’s actually a joke. Most of the others plough on ahead, jumping over the logs in the forest and avoiding trees like they’re born for it. Clarke can barely keep a quick enough pace. She has to slow into a walk more times than she wants to count.

Her motivation isn’t strong enough to push herself, either. Maybe it’s because she’s drained from travel, but she imagines it’s more to do with the boulder of guilt she’s trying to carry with her. She lay awake most of the night, adjusting to the sounds of the camp at every hour. In between the guards patrol footsteps and the noises of nocturnal animals, Bellamy circled her mind. The way he looked at her, the bitterness in his tone when he spoke.

Has she really been that selfish? Did she pull him away from his sister just so _she_ didn’t have to be away from him? It was foolish of her to even think he’d want to be with her. Of course he has other things higher on his priority list. She should have thought of that. She was just going on the presumption that maybe he’d want to be with her too, that he feels something for her. Will she ever stop being so fucking naive in this world? Now, he’ll never forgive her for this. Clarke didn’t think that Diyoza would even take her request seriously, although she did give her somewhat of an ultimatum.

“ _If I’m on that list, he’s on that list_.”

Is she really the reason he’s here? God, what has she done? She thought of Octavia last night too. Even though she seems like a girl that can hold her own, Clarke guesses it wasn’t easy being pulled apart from Bellamy.

She leans against a tree now, wiping the sweat from her brow. She knows that they’re being timed and even though it’s their first day, she doesn’t want to come in last on this training session.

It feels like boot camp. The sound of whistles go off at every mark point and the instructors are relentless. It’s the kind of pressure that is seen in the movies, the ones where cadets are driven to suicide. Only this isn’t a movie and they’re not here to die. Clarke pushes off the tree, breaking into a run once more.

She’s dressed in a pair of black cargo pants and a black t-shirt — standard issue, it seems. Everyone else is wearing the same thing. Despite being incredibly slow, she’s not the last one to cross the finish line and she’ll take it.

She bends and balances herself on her knees, gulping in the crisp oxygen around her. The other carriers are wincing from stitches or sitting on the ground. Clarke spots the two log cabins at the edge of the camp from where they’re standing. She heard one is for educational purposes — learning languages, reading books, playing music. The other is for counselling sessions. Hard to imagine how that will go with a bunch of supposed killers, in a tiny space talking about their feelings.

Next on their schedule is breakfast and they all pour into the large building at the end of the tents. They’re calling it The Dropship, named aptly after the section of Mount Weather they’re in. It looks a little better inside than it does on the outside but it only contains two large rooms with pointed ceilings. The room to the left is lined with long tables and benches. In the room to the right, it’s an open space with blue mats on the floor. Probably for training purposes. There’s gym equipment at the back that mainly just consists of weights.

Clarke collapses onto the bench and falls onto the food being served. She shoves bacon into her mouth by the forkful, absolutely ravenous after their run. It’s barely 7am and any essence of tiredness is gone from her, replaced by an insatiable hunger. Bellamy, Murphy, Monty and Raven sit along the same section of the table and none of them speak. They’re all too busy eating. There’s an array of food in front of them and it’s clear that Mount Weather doesn’t intend on starving them.

Bellamy has avoided her eye all morning and Clarke lets him. She should allow him that. More to the point, she doesn’t know what to say to him. She could say sorry, but is she? Of course she feels bad to her very core, she was selfish with her decision and she can’t even bear to think about Octavia in a detention camp — but she did save Bellamy from that fate. He’s here now with an opportunity to do better, to live in a functioning society after this. She can’t bring herself to regret that.

After breakfast, they go for a second run. The grounds are vast with thick trees everywhere. They pass a peaceful lake at one point but Clarke is under no illusions — they’re still prisoners here. There’s a perimeter with wired fencing that encloses them. It might be a few miles out to give them a sense of liberty but they are definitely far from free.

There are guards dotted around the place randomly and when they pass them on their route, they yell and shout at the carriers to move faster. It’s torture and Clarke is beginning to regret eating so much at breakfast.

She pushes past the pain for as long as she can, determined not to be portrayed as weak. She can’t fail at this camp, _won’t_ fail. It has to be better than the detention camps. Another pang of guilt hits her over Octavia. She hates that she’s there. Maybe she should have asked for her to come to Mount Weather too. Would it have made a difference?

Monty passes her out at one point, giving her a heavy stare that silently tells her to hurry up. Fuck this, she can’t. She slows to a stop, gasping painfully as she holds onto her ribs. There’s a stitch growing there and Clarke actually whines.

“Come on,” Murphy pants as he runs past her.

She rolls her eyes, pushing off her knees and following him pathetically. “Just let me die.”

Murphy barks out a laugh. “You’re not dying.”

“I might.” Clarke wheezes. “Think it’s the easier option right now.”

“You’re a cockroach like me,” he puffs. “We don’t die.”

Clarke has to smile, her feet aching every time they hit the forest floor. “Why can’t I be like Raven?”

She looks ahead, watching Raven’s sleek ponytail swish as she runs. She does it gracefully, like running is absolutely no issue for her at all. She isn’t even breaking a sweat. Her body weaves in and out around trees easily and Clarke would yell at her for being a show off if she had the lung capacity.

Murphy doesn’t answer her but when Clarke catches up with him, she sees his eyes following Raven a few paces ahead of him. He’s smiling like he’s proud.

“You’re so gone for her.” Clarke tries to laugh but it’s cut off by a sharp pain in her ribs. Fuck, where is the damn finish line?

“Shut up,” Murphy grumbles. “You’re one to talk.”

Clarke follows his gaze to a few yards to her left where Bellamy is running. He has his t-shirt hanging from his cargo pants, his bare skin on show for the world to see. His back is swollen with muscles and even though there’s a sheen of sweat on his body, Clarke practically drools with want. He isn’t struggling at all but his eyes are trained on the forest ahead, determination pouring off every fibre of him.

“Well, at least Raven doesn’t hate you,” Clarke counters, not meeting Murphy’s eye.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Murphy argues, blowing the air out of his lungs harshly.

“You haven’t seen the way he looks at me.”

“I have.” Murphy jogs on a little faster. “That’s how I know he doesn’t hate you.”

Clarke lets him speed on ahead, not bothering to catch up with him. She thinks about what he said for a minute, an ache in her heart stronger than the one in her legs. Whatever Bellamy used to feel about her is definitely gone now.

They have independent study after their run and Clarke heads to the designated log cabin. Inside, there’s an array of things to choose from: language tapes, musical instruments, some math equations on sheets and more things sorted into sections throughout. A sketchpad grabs Clarke’s attention, of course, so she takes it along with some pencils.

She sits down in front of one of the camp fires, even though the day is far too warm for it to be burning. Still, it gets cold at night and Clarke knows the guards have better things to be doing than re-lighting them when they go out. The discomfort from the log underneath her and the heat that comes from the fire is soon forgotten once she starts to sketch.

She traces the trees around them, creating a perfect picture image of their little camp. It’s green like she’s never seen it, swamped in colour and beauty. This corner of the world was obviously untouched until now and Clarke wonders what that’s like — to be undiscovered, unharmed. The trees and wildlife could grow in peace here before Charles Pike made it a training camp. Before 100 carriers would sit at unnecessary fires and run along the forest floor for an unnecessary length of time. Clearly, not even Mother Nature is safe from HTS and it’s wake of destruction.

Clarke is so swept up with drawing for the first time in ages that nothing distracts her until she hears a girlish giggle coming from The Dropship building. Her head shoots up, seeing a still topless Bellamy leaning against the outside wall of it. He has a book in his hand but what takes Clarke’s focus is the girl in front of him.

Her long, blonde hair reflects off the midday sun and Clarke watches as she twirls a piece of it between her fingers, looking at Bellamy like he’s a piece of meat. Her laugh is forced as she reaches out, touseling his sweat soaked curls in her fingers. Bellamy pulls his head away but he’s smirking and then Clarke is warm for an entirely different reason. Heat burns her from the inside out. Is he _flirting_ with her?

She snaps her gaze back to her sketchbook and grips her pencil even tighter. Fuck. It’s not like Clarke owns him or like he’s even speaking to her right now but fuck, this hurts. He’s probably always been a hit with women, even before HTS. And now, in a camp full of carriers, his bad-boy persona and the ‘D’ on his neck must send out a heat signal to them all.

She shifts her eyes up again, watching how his abs glisten as he moves, stepping out around the girl who pouts in disappointment. He walks away from her and spares Clarke a glance before averting his eyes.

He didn’t entertain the girl for long but it still doesn’t stop Clarke’s stomach turning with jealousy. This day is determined to keep dragging down her motivation. She closes her sketchpad, done with independent study for today.

At lunch, Clarke is careful with her food this time. They have Drills after this, which Clarke assumes is something in the training room of The Dropship building. She doesn’t want to feel the way she did at her second run, too full of food.

She’s starving and wants nothing more than to dive into the delicious spread in front of them, but she has to be clever. Two eggs, some salad and quinoa should be enough. The food has barely touched her tongue and she swallows it, absolutely famished.

Raven isn’t taking the same approach. Her plate is piled with different assortments of food, as if she’ll never eat again after this. Clarke can’t help but smile. Where does the girl put it all?

The sandy-haired girl from the line last night sits down on the other side of Clarke. She seems to be gravitating towards their group, perhaps sensing that they’re not as dangerous as some of the others — despite Clarke and Bellamy’s imprints.

Monty, Bellamy and Murphy sit down opposite them at the same time, digging into the food on trays in the middle of the table. Murphy keeps scooping scrambled eggs onto his plate even though Bellamy drops his head back in exasperation.

“Jesus, Murphy. Leave some for the rest of us.”

Clarke wants to laugh but she doesn’t feel like she’s allowed, like his jokes aren’t meant for her. She’s not sure he’ll ever speak to her again and the thought makes her hunger disappear immediately. She swallows the food in her mouth and looks down to her salad, wishing more than anything that they could just work it out.

A plate being dumped onto the table opposite her makes Clarke’s head shoot up, distracting her from her thoughts. The guy that she bumped into at the airport follows it, tucking into the selection of food in front of them. His eyes never leave Clarke as he shovels out rice from the tray.

He seems to have nudged Monty to the side in order to sit down. It means Murphy and Bellamy have been scooted further up the bench to make room for this new guy and the two other girls that have joined him at the table.

He’s facing Clarke dead on, a dislike for her already in his eyes. All three of them share the imprint, meaning there are now five marked carriers sitting in the same section of the table. The sandy-haired girl shifts uncomfortably beside her but Clarke’s face stays firm. She might have been intimidated by them at the start but the old her is long since dead. She can’t afford to look weak here.

The guy finishes loading his plate and adjusts his knife and fork. Before he picks up any food, though, he nods at Clarke’s plate. “You’re not eating much.”

Clarke simply pops some egg into her mouth and shrugs. What’s it got to do with him? Raven has tensed on the other side of her and Clarke notices Monty giving her a wary look from beside the new guy.

“My name is Ash,” he says confidently. He nods to the girl beside him, the one with long brown hair and strong features. “This is my sister, Echo.”

“And I’m Ontari,” the other girl pipes up, a youthful but dangerous look on her face. “Thanks for the introduction though, Ash.”

The smart comment doesn’t pull a reaction from Ash. He just stares at Clarke with snakelike eyes that wrap themselves around her. He has dark hair and a beard that covers a sharp jawline. He looks like a warrior, a killer if she ever saw one.

“Lovely,” Clarke deadpans, raising her eyebrows. She sips on her water, never taking her eyes away from him.

He smirks like her defiance amuses him. “And you are?”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Bellamy lift his head like he’s looking at her. She doesn’t meet his gaze, certain she’ll only receive the same warning look that she got from Monty.

“Clarke,” she says, refocusing her attention on her food now because she wants to imply that their conversation is over. She doesn’t want to get into anything more with him.

“And is this your friend?” He nods at the sandy-haired girl beside Clarke.

“I’m Harper,” she says, her voice much stronger than Clarke would have thought. She’s never actually heard her speak before.

“Yes.” Clarke cocks her chin up, irritated now that Ash is still prying. “She’s my friend.”

Harper’s shoulders relax beside her before continuing to eat her food. A surge of protectiveness rises within Clarke now, like it’s her responsibility to shield the group from this man that screams out danger.

“What about you, baby?” Ash turns his attention on Raven. “Friend or foe?”

“Friend,” Raven says sharply before Clarke can even open her mouth. “And it’s Raven. I’m not your baby.”

Murphy smirks opposite her, giving her a lingering stare. Clarke has to bite back her own smile, forever impressed by Raven’s sass. She takes shit from nobody.

“Trust you to make friends with the girls in here,” Echo mutters, tearing off a piece of chicken from the bone with her teeth.

“The prettiest ones too,” Ash agrees but his eyes are on Clarke when he says it.

She must imagine Bellamy’s hand curling into a fist before he pulls it under the table for hiding. Clarke rolls her eyes at Ash’s empty compliment. She doesn’t hesitate in adding to the conversation now because she needs him to back off.

“These are our friends too.” She nods to the boys next to Ash. “Monty, Murphy and Bellamy.”

They’re all one group and she wants him to know it, even though she and Bellamy aren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Their circle now includes Harper as well. Clarke promised herself that she wouldn’t get close to anybody else but damn it, she’s not going to leave the girl alone to fend for herself. Not with these vultures on the hunt.

Ash’s entire body language changes. His alpha male comes out in force with the ticking of his jaw and the straightening of his spine. He leans forward, scouring his gaze over the three boys beside him. He obviously didn’t realise that they were all together.

Bellamy glares straight back at him, his jaws still chewing his food. His dark curls droop over his brows but even from here, the look on his face gives Clarke shivers. Murphy looks at Ash defiantly, a smugness on his face that even Clarke would love to wipe off. Monty keeps his head down like he’s minding his own business but she knows he’s playing clever: watching, listening to everything that goes on.

“Lovely,” Ash echoes Clarke’s sarcasm from earlier. Then his attention immediately turns back on her. “Nice ink. What’d you do to get it?”

“Nothing,” Clarke returns.

“I’m sure.” Ash grins, taking a bite of his chicken leg. Droplets of fat pour out of the meat and down his chin, making him look like some wild animal.

“We got ours at the same time,” Echo announces like it’s some tattoo they chose to get. “Born at the same time, marked at the same time. Ironic, huh?”

Clarke’s lips break into a false smile. “Damn near poetic.”

There’s a scoff a few seats down, like someone is trying to smother a laugh. Clarke checks Bellamy’s face but he’s looking down, masking his expression.

“Only three girls with an imprint,” Ontari comments, shoving steak into her mouth from her plate. “We could be good friends.”

“I have enough friends, thanks.”

Clarke can’t help the annoyance spilling into her tone. They’re pissing her off now and they need to fuck off. The stress is coming from the discomfort, she realises. They’re intimidating by nature but Clarke knows they’re trying their best to force it as well.

Ontari’s face twists into something disgusting. “Suit yourself. You’d have been better off on our team.”

“Oh there are teams now?” Raven laughs. “Since when?”

“Was I talking to you?” Ontari snaps.

In the middle of their bickering, Clarke catches Echo leaning forward with her elbows on the table. It seems like she’s trying to get a good look at Bellamy.

“Hey handsome,” she calls down to him. “Maybe _we_ could be friends?”

Clarke’s cheeks burn with red hot jealousy, her fingers curling around her plate hard enough to snap it. She looks at Bellamy who is wearing a thick frown on his lips.

“I doubt it,” he replies, his rough voice carrying across the table.

Clarke shouldn’t be smug about it but fuck, she is. She bites her bottom lip but a small smirk slips through anyway.

“Something funny?” Echo directs at her, clearly catching it.

“Nope.” Clarke eats another bite of her eggs.

“Yeah, keep it that way.” Echo narrows her eyes at her. “Think you're special or something? You’re probably here on daddy’s credit card.”

This strikes a nerve with Clarke. She glances at the watch on her wrist, the one he left her before he died. A fire burns underneath her at the mention of her father. Echo couldn’t know her circumstances but she imagines she wouldn’t care either way.

It’s a pathetic insult. If money could buy things in the world of HTS, Clarke wouldn’t be here at all.

“We were all _picked_ to come here,” Harper defends her quickly, even though she doesn’t know Clarke at all.

Echo looks like she’s about to focus her wrath on Harper but Clarke gets in there first.

“Yeah. Although why you’re here is beyond me. Clearly not for your IQ.”

Monty’s eyes widen across from Clarke and the whole table falls silent. Echo looks like she’s just been punched. Clarke imagines that nobody really speaks back to her and maybe it’s not smart of her but fuck it, she’s pissed now.

“Well aren’t you a lippy little bitch?” Ontari chimes in.

Bellamy stands abruptly, startling them all with the clatter of his plate as it gets shoved forward. He looks imposing, his shoulders stretching against the fabric of his black t-shirt. He transforms into the man Clarke saw the first day in the Skybox: intimidating, hard, undismissable.

Clarke’s heart has come up into her throat. Clearly, despite their falling out, his urge to defend her is still strong.

“ _Enough_ ,” Ash announces, obviously keen to dissipate the tension. “Let’s not draw attention from the guards.”

He stares at Bellamy, a silent suggestion there to sit back down. There’s a guard by the door who is looking over now so Clarke gives Bellamy a nod. They don’t need trouble. He sits down slowly but his eyes are sharp on the three newcomers. His disdain for them is obvious.

“We’re all here because we’re strong,” Ash says, his voice lower now. “But let’s not forget, we all have a weakness.” His gaze lands on Clarke. “It’s just a matter of discovering what it is. God knows Charles Pike is looking for it in us.”

Clarke can’t help the way her eyes shift towards Bellamy for a quick second. It’s too fast to determine whether he’s looking at her or not because she doesn’t want to give her weakness away so easily. She re-directs her focus on Ash again, determined not to be cowed by any of them.

He smiles at her, studying her with those venomous eyes. She wonders what _his_ weakness is. It’s clear that it’s not just Pike looking for weaknesses.

Clarke remembers reading about Portia spiders once. They’re ugly looking things but they’re incredibly clever, capable of problem solving and learning. They improvise in new situations and then remember the approach. Their choice of prey is actually other spiders, identifying their weakness before deciding on the best way to take them out.

And Ash — he reminds Clarke all too much of a Portia spider.

* * *

After lunch, they all assemble in the training room of The Dropship.

Clarke observes the blue mats around them and wonders if they’re thick enough for soft landings. She doesn’t think so.

It’s cold inside with grey walls all encompassing them. It seems to be lit well by the daylight and it’s large enough for the room not to feel claustrophobic, despite having so many people inside. All of the carriers watch each other though. It’s something Clarke has noticed. Everyone scans everyone else, sizing each other up, probably wondering which one of them will break in this place first and let their killer out.

Raven stands next to Clarke along with Harper. Monty, Murphy and Bellamy are shoulder to shoulder a few feet to her left with their arms folded. The three amigos from lunch are mixed in with the other carriers, out of sight but definitely not out of mind. They unnerved Clarke and she curses herself for being so antagonistic with them.

Charles Pike comes in and Clarke straightens by habit, unnerved by his presence. The other instructors are harsh but the silent power Pike emits is obvious to every single person in this camp. He’s in charge, he calls the shots.

Diyoza isn’t here today and Clarke already feels less secure without her.

“Alright,” he begins, his hands behind his back. His voice echoes around the room easily. “We’re going to pair you up for sparring.”

Clarke’s stomach actually churns. _Sparring_? With other carriers? Isn’t that a deathwish? Not all of them are like her group. Some of them are dangerous, violent by nature. They’re the ones that give Pike’s theory the credit it calls for.

“There’ll be no discriminations on size, gender or weight. You’ll be placed with a partner and there’ll be no switching,” Pike announces. “You won’t get to choose your opponent in the real world.”

Opponent? What are they going to do with them once they graduate from this place? Send them off to war? Clarke shakes herself. She can’t think about that right now. Pike starts walking around the room, assigning mats to a pair of carriers. There’s only about ten mats, meaning the rest of them will have to take a seat on the ground and wait their turn.

Of course, though, Clarke isn’t that lucky.

“You’re sparring with…” Pike points at her and then looks around the room for her partner. Ash seems to have appeared out of thin air and like the universe is playing some cosmic joke on her, Pike’s finger stops on him. “This guy.”

Her gut twists around itself as Ash smiles, stepping forward. She blows out a deep breath, determined to keep her exterior stoic. The turmoil she’s feeling on the inside will just have to take a backseat for now.

They approach their assigned mat and Clarke shakes out her fingers, desperate to erase the buzzing sensation under her skin. Fuck, _fuck_.

“Twenty carriers are starting our drills,” Pike declares. “The rest of you will watch and learn something. Observe movements, opportunities and strategies. Your turn will come.”

Clarke spots Bellamy a few feet over from her, crouched instead of sitting down properly like the others. He is positioned to pounce, every inch of him wound tight. His hands are held together in front of him and his elbows are balanced on his knees. It’s his eyes that draw focus though. They never leave hers, a look in them that she can’t figure out. If she had to guess, she’d call it concern.

Raven, Monty, Murphy and Harper sit down beside him, their eyes on her fight too. Clarke can read the fear in their eyes from here.

She glances across at her opponent who looks all too pleased to be paired with her. The smirk hasn’t left his face but he’s taken off his boots, balancing on the mat on his toes like a boxer. Clarke removes her boots too and waits for gloves. They aren’t given any.

Pike blows the whistle, signalling them to begin. There’s no instruction given for this bareknuckle boxing match they seem to be in. Survival of the fittest at it’s best.

Pike circles them all, watching and writing down notes as he goes. They’re being marked on this, Clarke realises. Fuck. They’re probably marked on everything. His voice echoes out around the room again after a beat.

“We’ll see what you’re made of with this first drill. Then we’ll start training you on your weak spots.”

 _Brilliant_.

She looks ahead just in time to see Ash approaching her quickly. Fortunately, he’s slow. Clarke manages to side-step him, causing him to barrel past her. Her heart hammers against her ribcage and she’s already breathing deeply. A quick glance at Bellamy confirms he’s doing the same. She draws strength from him and focuses back on Ash. His muscles pull his t-shirt tightly against him and the ‘D’ on his neck appears tiny on his large neck.

He laughs as he spins around, righting himself. “Maybe you should have taken our friendship offer when you had the chance.”

“Why?” Clarke hops around the mat on the balls of her feet, all too aware that Pike is approaching their session. “Would you have gone easy on me or something?”

“Not a chance.”

Ash looks like he takes pleasure in saying that. He charges for her again and Clarke dodges that one too.

Pike stops at the side of their mat, studying the fight. The pressure is definitely on and Clarke feels it crushing her. Echo and Ontari are sitting against the opposite wall, watching their fight with particular interest. They don’t look fearful or apprehensive — they look ready. Clarke wonders if they’ve already been trained before they came here, if they were already fighters.

“You can’t run forever, you know,” Ash huffs and Clarke detects the slightest irritation in his tone.

Maybe not but she’s never been in a fight in her goddamn life. Maybe she just needs to satisfy Pike rather than impress him. And her strategy of avoidance might be enough for today.

Ash lunges at her again and Clarke turns to skip away again. But like the Portia spider, he learns from his target and improvises. On the turn, he grabs Clarke’s arm and twists it, catching her completely off guard. He pulls her into him and slams them both onto the mat. Her head bounces and Clarke decides the mats definitely aren’t thick enough to support soft landings.

Air is pushed out of her lungs in a whoosh and she’s disorientated until Ash climbs on top of her. He straddles her in the same way Bellamy did back in his bedroom but it invokes _none_ of the same feelings. All that consumes her body now is panic.

She tries to buck him off but it’s futile. He outweighs her by a mile. No whistle blows and there’s no call to stop the match. It seems everything is allowed. Until when? Until she can’t fight anymore? Until she falls unconscious?

His smell overpowers her senses and pain blinds her when he rams his fist against her side.

“Maybe if you used your brain as much as you used your mouth, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” he grits out, striking another blow into her stomach.

She gasps out, barely able to comprehend and process the pain that travels through her. She hears a scuffle around her but the sound blurs, an array of shouts that she thinks is coming from different carriers. Pike is in her peripheral vision and panic flies through her for a different reason. Will she be sent to a detention camp tonight if she can’t perform? Fuck, what is she gonna do?

“Yeah, Pike is watching,” he confirms lowly, obviously noting how she glances at him. Ash leans down, his lips pressing against her ear as he pins her hands by her sides. “I’ll let you win if it’s so important to you. For a price,” he purrs seductively.

Clarke’s stomach practically heaves. She knows what he’s implying and he can fuck off. She’d rather be sent to a detention camp. An opportunity has presented itself quickly though and before she has time to think it through, Clarke lifts her head sharply and crashes it against Ash’s nose.

The residual pain in her skull must only be a fraction of Ash’s agony and she’s pleased with herself. Blood drips from his nose and onto her neck as he howls in pain. He falls off her, cupping his nose and Clarke stands victorious. She grins, looking around. And that is her fatal mistake.

Ash rushes her, tackling her at the knees and knocking her to the ground. She hits her head harder than the last time and her teeth rattle inside her mouth.

This time, there’s no showing off, no bravado. Ash gives her no mercy. His fists fly against her, setting her nerve endings on fire. One hit connects with the skin on her cheek and Clarke knows it splits open the skin.

Her lungs constrict, like they’re holding onto residual oxygen to keep her conscious. It won’t work for long, she imagines. The force of his weight presses down on her chest, squeezing every inch of breath out of her until her vision starts to turn black.

And then he’s gone. And she can breathe again.

Clarke gasps in the air around her and her lungs swell up with rich oxygen. Even that is painful though. She sits up like she’s underwater, her movements slow and measured. Then she notices the reason for her freedom.

Bellamy is sitting on top of Ash a few feet over, fierce and wild as he lands blows against him. His body is fluid and graceful, a direct contrast against the violent punches he’s producing.

Clarke can only watch, numb against everything else around her. She vaguely registers the other carriers watching, their own matches halted. Echo and Ontari are screaming at Bellamy, she thinks. Or else they’re screaming at the guards to do something. Clarke can’t really hear. The throbbing in her ears doesn’t let up, blocks out any other sound.

She stands, swaying a little bit but thankfully, Pike is no longer assessing her. He’s standing over Bellamy and a very unconscious Ash, who Bellamy is still delivering punches to.

Sound tunes back in as Pike reaches down, pulling Bellamy off of him.

“Come on, he’s finished.”

It strikes Clarke then. Bellamy finished him, not her. Disappointment floods her body.

Bellamy stands now, panting. He scans the crowd like he’s searching for something. For Clarke, she realises. His gaze finds her and his shoulders relax, tension visibly seeping out of his muscles like water through a sieve.

“This wasn’t your assignment,” Pike tells him but Bellamy looks like he’s not listening. He’s too busy scanning Clarke for injuries, it seems.

Pike follows Bellamy’s gaze until he’s is looking at Clarke too. Understanding fills his features and he just nods, clapping Bellamy on the back.

The rumble of carriers muttering fills the room, clearing discussing everything they’ve just seen. Clarke’s heart is thumping, her chest rising and falling as she looks at Bellamy. There’s a flutter inside her stomach over him protecting her, _again_. Even when he’s angry with her.

“Get him cleaned up,” Pike orders one of his guards, gesturing to Ash like he’s a pile of garbage. Then, he turns back to Bellamy. “It’s critical here that you follow directions. But well done.”

Clarke gets it then. It might not have been Bellamy’s fight but he portrayed power, strength. _Everything Clarke failed to show._

Blood trickles down from the gash on her cheek and she quickly wipes it with the back of her wrist, irritation growing more and more inside her.

Bellamy doesn’t have a scratch on him. He appears winded but other than that, he’s perfectly unharmed. Pike dismisses them for unscheduled communal time, suggesting all carriers to return to their tents for “reflection” or some bullshit like that.

Clarke spins immediately, needing to be out of Bellamy’s heavy view.

“Clarke!”

She ignores him calling after her and just moves her feet quicker, past Raven and the others who are waiting by the door for her. She needs to clean herself up and calm herself down.

Fuck. Does Bellamy even realise what he’s just done?

Noble and all as he was, he might have just cost her her place at Mount Weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to Ciara (@icantloseyou-too) who once again, pre-read a bit of this chapter for me, and continues to be my biggest hype woman for it. She also gave me the idea to include Ash as Echo's twin (her mind guys, seriously!)
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	14. Whatever It'll Take, I'll Learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Afterglow - Hermitage Green
> 
> My wonderful friend Ciara made an edit of what we think Ash would look like and guys, ngl, he’s pretty hot. Let’s all go scream at her brilliance! Check out [Ash](https://twitter.com/cantloseyou_too/status/1310497506187411456?s=21)!

* * *

**Follow-up email sent to Eligius Corporation, a human rights organization that rejects Homicidal Tendency Syndrome and opposes Charles Pike’s methods of control and discipline of “carriers”:**

CD,

You have my full and undivided attention.

As I said in my last email, I’m ready to do anything to help. I want in, whatever you’re planning. You just tell me what to do.

I knew from the second you handed me your card that you wanted me to do something and I am more than ready. I need to save my sister. You have an interesting approach, being an inside man in this whole thing. I just hope you know what you’re doing.

Get back to me ASAP.

Yours sincerely,

Wells Jaha.

* * *

The gash on Clarke’s cheek stings as she holds one of the camp-issued t-shirts against it. It’s not bleeding much anymore but fuck, the pain is sharp. On top of that, her entire body aches. There’s zero chance of her being able to run tomorrow, yet she knows she’ll be expected to. She curses Ash but herself even more for letting her guard down.

She groans with annoyance, kicking herself for being so utterly stupid. She has to give her best in here all the damn time but she constantly feels like she’s in over her head. There was never a time in her life that she was the “athletic” girl. She spent her all of her time with art, hidden away from fresh air in between the corners of her bedroom. Now, she’s thrown into the middle of a training camp full of dangerous people and she’s so out of her depth, it’s not even funny. Fitness and fighting aren’t her forte.

Her heart still hasn’t slowed since the whole ordeal in the training room and her mind is still trying to play catch up, re-running the images over and over in her head as she pace’s the small floor of her tent. Bellamy on top of Ash, the pride on Pike’s face, the way Bellamy looked at her. She shakes her head, dismissing the flashbacks.

Fuck. She’s half expecting Pike to come any second and tell her she’s being sent to a detention camp. Will he count that first fight as a failure? Will it lead to immediate dismissal from Mount Weather? This isn’t a game where second chances are given at ease. She has to prove herself and there can’t be a shred of doubt in Pike’s mind that she belongs here. Otherwise, there’s a detention camp somewhere with her name on it.

Defence rises within her again, desperate to understand why Bellamy would fight her battle for her, especially in here where they’re all being watched and assessed. He _knows_ this. Maybe what’s really bugging her is that he embarrassed her. It was obvious to every single carrier in that room that she needed help and he made her look weak by giving it to her.

She always saw herself as a girl that could hold her own but the thought that has been playing on her mind since her HTS diagnosis is that she thinks she _does_ need Bellamy — in more ways than one. The prospect suddenly terrifies her. The more you care and rely on people, the more you have to lose.

Clarke tosses the bloodied t-shirt onto the cot in her tent, frustrated beyond measure. They have their counselling session scheduled for later but she can’t wait that long to get things off her chest. She marches outside with a newfound purpose. Opening her tent door flap, the noise of camp greets her. Carriers are sitting by the fires or sifting in and out of tents, using their unscheduled time to make friends — or teams like Ontari said, Clarke isn't sure which. The sun is only starting to set, creating golden hues around the camp.

Her body aches with each step and every angle of her body is throbbing. She can’t even locate which part of her hurts the most. She spots Bellamy’s tent, hating that she noticed which one he chose. Five down from her own on the opposite side. Then, her chest twinges and Clarke knows it’s not physical pain that’s hurting her – it’s Bellamy. The uneasiness between them has formed a groove somewhere in the chambers of her heart and everything else that has happened is just piling on top of it like scar tissue.

The awareness of him still being pissed off with her sits at the forefront of her mind and part of her wants to retreat, terrified of pushing their already fragile connection over the edge. It’s stubbornness and irritation that drives her inside, though. She ducks under the green and navy flap, her lungs heaving with built up energy. The air gets stuck in her chest, however, when her eyes land on Bellamy.

He’s standing in the middle of his tent, his t-shirt between his fingers like he was about to pull it over himself. Her eyes are magnetised towards his chest. Bellamy's broad shoulders make his toned body look even bigger, the indent deep in the centre of his chest leading down to where his abs begin. He’s wearing his camp-issued cargo pants and Clarke can clearly see the V shape at the bottom of his stomach, along with a bruise that’s starting to form under his ribs. Clearly, Ash got a shot in.

She realises she’s staring and shakes herself a little, shoving her eyes towards his face. He’s already looking at her.

“Clarke?”

For a second, she almost forgets why she came here. It’s easy to get lost in him, to ignore every other feeling than the one she gets by just being in his presence. His eyes drop to her cheek, obviously studying the cut there from Ash. She knows he’s about to zone in on it — ask about it or worse, comfort her about it. No. She can’t let him distract her from what needs to be said.

She inhales deeply. “What was that about?”

“What?” He furrows his brow, flicking his focus back up to her eyes.

“Back there in the training room.” Clarke shoves her hands into her jacket pockets for something to do with them. “You can’t do that Bellamy, not in here.”

He studies her for a moment, absorbing that before he pulls his t-shirt on over his head. “Clarke.”

This time, her name is drenched in disappointment, like he’s aiming to criticize her. Or warn her.

“No, don’t _Clarke_ me.” She steps into his tent a little more, her breathing coming hard as her emotions cloud her. “What were you thinking, Bellamy? I could lose my place here, you get that, right?”

He scoffs. “You’re not gonna get kicked out over that. It was one time.”

She’s ready for this, walking even closer to him as her body buzzes with defence. “And what about the next time? Is this going to be a stand alone incident of you running to my aid?”

Silence drapes across the tent. He turns his head to look at her properly now. This close, Clarke can’t help but notice his height, his upper body balancing it in broadness. He flexes his biceps as he puts his hands on his hips but his lips stay closed, saying nothing.

“I didn’t think so,” she murmurs. “Being in here isn’t about protecting me, Bellamy.”

His eyes lock on hers. “For me it is.”

This half winds her, pushing all the residual air out of her respiratory system. She doesn’t let him know that though and covers it by giving him a pointed look.

“Pike is watching our every move, we have to perform,” she throws at him. “You think he’s not noticing who jumps in for who? Who cares about who? Flaunting that kind of weakness just spells trouble.”

Apparently, whatever nerve she’s just stumbled upon is a sensitive one because she’s just set him off. Anger clouds his irises and his jawline tightens.

“Look, Clarke. I didn’t want to be here in the first place. In case you’ve forgotten.”

“How could I with you reminding me at every bend?” she counters. “You’ve barely spoken to me since we got here but you’re well able to jeopardize my position here?”

“Yeah, funny that anger doesn’t turn off—”

Clarke’s eyes flicker, re-focusing on him with a newfound purpose. The implication of the end of that sentence sets her heart racing. Anger doesn’t turn off what? He caught himself, though and adjusted appropriately.

“That’s not even the point,” he continues, steering the subject away from what she desperately wants to hear. “I have every right to be pissed with you. You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Did Diyoza tell you that?”

“She didn’t have to.” His lips twist into a sad smile. “I’m not here on my own merit. I told you that night in your bedroom, I’m nothing.”

“And I told _you_ ,” Clarke enunciates. “You’re not to me.”

“Exactly.” He’s looking at her like he’s just caught her out in some massive crime. “You asked for me here, right? You’re the reason I’m not with my sister.”

Maybe it’s the day she’s had or maybe it’s the fact that she’s absolutely drained by all of this but Clarke's anger flares. Fuck him.

“You know what? I’m sick of this,” she snaps. “Even if you were going to a detention camp, there’s no guarantee you would have even ended up in the same one as Octavia. You’re imprinted. She’s not.” Bellamy’s eyes fill with unspoken anger, a dangerous look in them as Clarke hashes out some hard truths. “You’re acting like they tied you up and forced you in here, Bellamy. But I imagine you were offered the same choice I was. Come or don’t.”

He stares at her for a moment too long, the heaviness of his gaze covering her like a thick blanket. “I knew you were coming here. I never had a choice.”

The words hit her like a falling building. They crush her under their weight, making her tremble. She doesn’t know how, but all of her worries vanish for a second and a light ignites inside her chest. He’s staring at her like she’s the stars and he’s devoted his life to studying them. She almost can’t believe that anyone could look at her the way he does.

An appropriate response eludes her so she takes a deep breath and steadies her knees. If she stays here any longer, she’ll fall into his arms and show Charles Pike exactly how much of a weakness he is for her. Arms length is where he needs to stay, especially if he’s going to hold her accountable for him being sentenced here.

“Look, just stay out of my fight’s in future.”

Her voice shakes so it doesn’t deliver the desired punch she wants it to. So she turns and leaves him standing there in the middle of his tent. Bellamy Blake is as reckless and mysterious as the ocean, and Clarke hates that she’d happily drown in him every damn time.

* * *

Conditioning is in ten minutes. That’s what they’re calling counselling, apparently.

Before going in, Clarke decided that she needed to clean herself up before it. She washed the blood out of her hair in the bathroom, if they can even call it that. It’s just two small rooms in a dingy concrete building opposite the Dropship, one for the girls and one for the boys. It’s damp and freezing in here like a public rest area, paired with open spaced showers and a flickering overhead light that is probably powered by solar energy.

Most of the blood that she washed away wasn’t even hers, it was Ash’s from when she hit his nose. It’s not like she went without damage though. Under her t-shirt, there’s severe bruising around her ribs and stomach. Out of the pair of them, he definitely came out on top. Until Bellamy got involved.

She closes her eyes for a second, shaking her head. Their argument has been circling her mind since it happened and she’s starting to give herself a migraine. Everything is so messed up.

She leans against the sink, staring at herself in the grubby mirror. Fuck, she looks miserable. Her short hair is damp, allowing water droplets to fall onto her fresh camp-issued t-shirt. The gash on her cheek is crusting and sore to touch and she winces when she moves her face too much. She managed to find a first aid box that her mother must have snuck into her bag and applied two butterfly bandages over it, masking the ugliness of the cut. It doesn’t look perfect but fuck it, it will have to do.

She takes in the dark circles under her eyes, the slight bruising around her jawline, the ‘D’ imprint on her neck. Fuck, she barely recognises herself. The well-bred girl who painted knights and princesses on her walls, who was accepted into a prestigious college before she even finished school, who carefully styled her hair each morning and walked into a place where she was accepted and popular.

How has so much changed in the space of a month?

The bathroom door banging open makes her jump and kicks her body into gear. She gathers her towel and dirty clothes, preparing to leave in a hurry if it’s Echo or Ontari walking in. Thankfully, it's just Harper.

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbles.

“It’s fine.” Clarke forces a smile. “Hard to find a place here that’s unoccupied for too long.”

Harper laughs softly at the joke, walking slowly over to lean against the sink beside Clarke. “You missed dinner.”

“Wasn’t that hungry,” Clarke admits, folding her towel over her arms.

“You okay?” Harper studies the marks on her face. “I mean, what happened at drills...”

Clarke purses her lips, nodding. She hates how her cheeks tinge red with shame. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“It’s hard here,” Harper says, shuffling on her feet. She doesn't sound as certain as she probably intends when she speaks. “But I mean, it’s better than the alternative.”

“A detention camp?” Clarke clarifies. “It has to be.”

Harper is quiet for a second, like she’s measuring her words out. “Do you think it’s the only alternative?”

Clarke stares at her, trying to figure out what she means. It reaches her quickly. She’s talking about escaping? No, they’ve had this thought countless times. Clarke suggested it to Bellamy, Wells suggested it to her. It’s a pointless idea. They have nowhere to go and no way to get there.

“We can’t run.”

“I heard they’re not screening for carriers in Mexico.” Harper shrugs. “My dad wanted to go there with me before the Ark culling. Before the country got super strict. I was afraid, though. I thought it wouldn’t get this bad.”

Clarke gets that. It’s not like she never had the same idea but now? In here? It’s a suicide mission. She points to her neck. “I wouldn’t make it to the next town.”

Harper nods, a miserable look washing over her. Clarke recognises it because she’s had enough hope extinguished herself in the last month alone. “I just miss my family.”

“Me too,” Clarke admits. “I’m sure we’ll see them again, though.”

But she’s not sure. They’ve barely been here a day but Clarke already knows that their journey isn’t going to end here. Pike has something bigger planned for them and it certainly doesn’t finish with them going home to see their families.

“You think so?”

Clarke smiles encouragingly at her, preparing another lie. “I do.”

Harper sighs. “You’re lucky you have Bellamy and the others. I wish I came in here with someone.”

Clarke’s face falters. Suddenly, she feels stupid for being so angry with Bellamy. What is she supposed to do, ask him not to care? Ask him not to do the exact thing he’s been doing since she met him? Protecting her is an instinct for him and she can’t choose when he does it or not. She snaps her attention back to Harper and reaches out, squeezing her arm reassuringly.

“Well, you have us now.”

Harper smiles wide, relief flooding her features. “Thanks, Clarke.”

* * *

“Right, do we have everyone?” Diyoza asks, sitting a few seats to Clarke’s left.

Their circle is small with only about 12 carriers in it. Apparently, this conditioning session is just for the ones with imprints. It means that except for Bellamy, who is sitting directly across from Clarke, she doesn’t know or like anybody else here.

Ash, Ontari and Echo are a few spaces down from her, shooting daggers at her with their eyes whenever she looks slightly in their direction.

The room isn’t very big and every person in here makes it that little bit smaller, closing the plain grey walls in around them. The solar light above their heads isn't very strong and it feels claustrophobic. Clarke hopes they aren’t in here for very long. She’s glad that Diyoza is here, though. She arrived into camp about an hour ago and as always, her presence is soothing.

“Okay. As you’ve noticed, we’ve split your counselling sessions into groups.” Diyoza speaks confidently — not apprehensive at all, despite being in a room full of marked carriers. “This one is just for those of you who bear the imprint.”

Clarke clasps her hands together uncomfortably. She doesn’t feel like sharing anything about herself with these people. She looks up at Bellamy and finds him already looking at her. He turns his head just as quick, avoiding her as much as she is trying to do with him. Her gut twists around itself, hating this.

“So, we’re just going to start with introducing ourselves,” Diyoza explains. “Each of you will say your name, why you were imprinted, how it made you feel and why you were chosen for Mount Weather.”

 _Perfect_.

A few carriers take their turn but most of it washes over Clarke. She just wants to go to bed. After just one day in Mount Weather, she feels like she’s been here a week. Her body is wrecked, her legs are exhausted and her mind isn’t much better. It’s Sunday tomorrow but she doesn’t imagine they’ll get a day off. The second the sun comes up, they’ll be out running in the forest. No rest for the wicked.

Her eyes zone in on Bellamy’s large hand across from her. He’s holding his ankle across his knee, watching another carrier tell Diyoza that he got imprinted because he broke into his neighbor's house and tried to assault her. To tune out from that vile story, Clarke traces the veins on the back of Bellamy’s hand with her eyes, observing how they bulge out of his golden skin. His fingers are long and thick and Clarke is tempted to put all of her trust in those strong, capable hands.

But it’s thoughts like this that have caused her to be too dependent on him. Today has proven that she needs to be strong in her own right, too.

“Next?”

Clarke looks up to see Diyoza staring at her expectantly. Fuck, it’s her turn. Her heart skips but she blows out a breath, determined to do what is asked of her without revealing too much at the same time. She doesn’t need other carriers knowing the very depths of herself. Bellamy catches her eye as she clears her throat but she shifts in her chair, looking over his shoulder at the darkness outside the window.

“Um. My name is Clarke,” she begins. “I was imprinted because of alleged assault.”

“Alleged?” Diyoza quirks a brow, something unreadable on her expression.

Technically, what she did to Finn can be classified as that. But to earn her something as severe as a permanent public warning of her status? She doesn’t think she deserved that.

Clarke nods in confirmation. “Yes, alleged.”

Diyoza simply smiles but it isn't condescending at all. In fact, she looks a little impressed. There’s a scoff a few chairs down though and Clarke doesn’t have to look to know it’s probably coming from Ash and his two accomplices.

“How did it make you feel?” Diyoza re-directs her attention.

“Bad.” Clarke gives her nothing else. How did it make her feel to get imprinted for a foolish mistake? Unjust, pathetic, angry, ashamed, distraught, _suicidal_.

“And why were you chosen for Mount Weather?”

“I was good in school.” Clarke shrugs, her muscles wound tight. “Got accepted into Sanctum before the year ended.”

“So, what I hear is that you’re here for your intelligence,” Diyoza says, nodding. “Your strength is your mind, logic, creativity.”

Clarke shrugs again. She’s not sure any of that will score her any points in drills or exercise. Still, they must see it as useful if they selected her for Mount Weather based on it.

A few carriers whisper and mumble around her and she’s dying for her turn to be over. Heat rises to her cheeks and she looks to Bellamy, as she always does, for support. He holds eye contact for longer this time, giving her a slight nod before turning away again.

“Okay, good,” Diyoza says, moving her head to locate her next speaker.

Clarke breathes out a sigh of relief, grateful to have the spotlight off her. Diyoza’s gaze lands on Ash and she raises her eyebrows, signalling that it’s his turn. Clarke lets herself look at him properly for the first time since they sat down. His face is destroyed with thick, purple bruising all over it. His cheek is swollen so much that his eye is almost closed and he’s sporting a very thick fat lip.

Bellamy really did a number on him.

Ash exhales loudly, sinking back against his chair as if this is the most boring thing in the world. “I’m Ash. I was imprinted because I beat up some punks who owed me money,” he says almost proudly. “Didn’t care about being imprinted. I’m here because I’m a good fighter. I’ve never lost a fight in my life.”

“Until now,” someone in the circle mutters and a low collection of laughs travel across the room.

Clarke bites down on her lip and glances over at Bellamy. He’s staring at the hand that is holding his ankle, like he's trying to stay out of this. He doesn’t look sorry but Clarke knows he probably doesn’t want to gloat either — which is exactly how he would have looked if he had his chin cocked up, staring at Ash defiantly. What’s happened has happened and Clarke imagines Bellamy took no pleasure in doing what he did. He was just defending her.

Ash, however, looks absolutely murderous. His jaw is clenched and there’s a venom in his eyes that could infect every single person in here that finds it funny. His sister and Ontari look equally pissed off.

“Alright, that's enough.” Diyoza settles them. She looks at Echo. “Next?”

“I’m Echo,” she spits, obviously still pissed off at the joke about her brother. “I was imprinted because my brother asked me to do a job for him. One that resulted in someone dying.”

Clarke can only stare at her. She killed someone? She says it so casually that for a second, Clarke thinks she must have misheard her. She doesn’t even look sorry.

“Is that something you do often?” Diyoza asks, a little judgement in her voice. “Follow orders?”

Echo narrows her eyes. “Depends on who is doing the ordering.”

“You weren’t arrested for your crime?” Diyoza’s pen scratches against her notepad, taking down Echo’s answer.

“Wasn’t caught.” Echo shrugs. “There were a few of us there. My brother included. They couldn’t know who killed him.” She glances at her brother beside her for a second before turning back to Diyoza. “But it was me.”

 _Was it_? Clarke can’t help but think this is exactly why Echo was chosen to come here. Loyalty like that can’t be bought. It seems it’s something Pike is very interested in. There’s clearly nothing they can do about her crime now, either. Clarke knows that there’s a couple of carriers that were brought here from prison. Pike obviously doesn’t care where he gets his cream of the crop from.

“I was proud of my imprint after that. Felt like a battle scar,” she finishes.

“Right.” Diyoza says, staring at Echo with a hardness in her eyes. Clarke can tell that she doesn’t like her. “And that answers the question of why you’re in Mount Weather. You’re more than capable of performing what is asked of you.”

“I’m a good fighter, too,” Echo boasts.

“Well done,” Diyoza smiles falsely, less than impressed. She nods at Ontari next who dives in to talking about herself like it’s her favourite thing to do.

Clarke is definitely in over her head in this camp and suddenly, Harper’s suggestion of running is sounding all too appealing. Logically, she knows it would be crazy. But looking at all of these carriers now, it’s starting to feel like self-sabotage just being in this camp. What kind of people does Pike want to train, and why?

“Next?” Diyoza is looking at Bellamy now.

Clarke sits up a little straighter, watching him inhale slightly. The curls on his head fall over his brows as he shifts himself, dropping his ankle and positioning his two feet on the ground. He rubs his palms against his cargo pants, parting his lips to speak. Clarke is transfixed with every move.

“I’m Bellamy,” he begins, his rough voice scraping across Clarke’s skin like sandpaper. “I was imprinted for protecting my sister during a home invasion.”

Clarke winces at the memory of him telling her about that. He sounded more raw then, more vulnerable. Now, it’s like his walls are up around these other people. The respect is back on Diyoza’s face now.

“And how did you feel about that?”

Bellamy’s eyes connect with Clarke and her heart stutters. He looks back to Diyoza and shrugs slightly. “The things we’ve done to survive, they don’t define us.”

Any oxygen that was remaining in Clarke’s chest whooshes out. She said those words to him back in her room, the night after she was imprinted. _He remembered_. Her mouth has gone dry, wondering how many other things she said meant something to him. A vague smile tugs at Diyoza’s lips and she nods, writing down his answer.

“Bellamy, the protector,” Ash teases, pulling obnoxious giggles from Echo and Ontari.

“Enough, Ash,” Diyoza corrects him.

“What? Sure it’s the truth.” Ash grins widely, folding one ankle over the other as he outstretches his legs. Clarke watches Bellamy’s nostrils flare as Ash puts his hands behind his head. Ash turns to look at Clarke now, a bad combination of smug and danger on his face. “A good little knight, by his queens side.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Diyoza’s voice cuts in sharply. She gives Ash a thick look of warning and so he holds his hands up in surrender, still smiling.

Bellamy’s hands have curled into fists but to his credit, he doesn't retaliate. Clarke knows Ash is just responding this way because his ego is bruised worse than his face. Bellamy made him look weak in front of every carrier in this room. Maybe Ash is so irritated because he knows if it were to happen again, Bellamy would still win.

“Go on, Bellamy,” Diyoza encourages. “Why are you in Mount Weather?”

If Clarke didn’t know any better, she’d think all the air was sucked out of the room. Her chest grows tight and the world tips off balance a little. Bellamy glances across at her, his stare lingering for a second before shifting back to Diyoza.

“I don’t know.”

Clarke had been adamant on not feeling guilty about that anymore but she can’t explain why her heart is pounding.

“You don’t know?” Diyoza gazes at him curiously.

Bellamy shrugs but doesn’t look at Clarke this time. “I have a vague idea.”

Diyoza raises her eyebrows in confusion while flipping through pages in her notes. She finally locates the page she’s searching for and runs her finger down through it. “Bellamy Blake. Recruited for Mount Weather training camp based on a story written for a national competition that was then further acknowledged for a book deal.”

Bellamy’s head shoots up to look at Diyoza, disbelief shrouding his entire form. Clarke’s mouth has fallen open, still trying to catch up.

“His story contained elements of empathy and understanding of his characters which points to traits that can be moulded into something positive.” Diyoza closes her notes. “It says you were the first one chosen in your hometown. Looks to me like you’re here because you have a good heart, Mr. Blake.”

Ash snorts in deirision a few seats down but Clarke can only stare at Bellamy, her own heart full and proud. He’s here because of his own accomplishments. She's so happy that someone else sees the good in him the way she does.

Bellamy’s eyes slide over to her as Diyoza moves on. Clarke can read the guilt in those heavy brown eyes from here. He shakes his head at her, a silent apology travelling across the air. It's clear that he's thinking the same as her.

All of this hostility between them has been for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to the Bellarke Fic Awards, I have made it to the semi-finals **32 times**. This fic is still in **10 categories** and I'm so so grateful to everyone who has got it there.
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	15. We'll Make It to the Other Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Don't Give Up On Me - Andy Grammer
> 
> I love this song for this fic and I hope you guys can see how perfect it is for Bellarke ❤️

* * *

**HTS Detention and Training Camp Code 11B:**

Any child born to a carrier shall be tested for HTS at the time of birth. If an infant is found to be positive for the gene, they shall remain in the camp of their birth. If an infant is found to be negative for the gene, they shall be placed into care of the state. Relatives may come forward through the courts if they wish to claim custody.

* * *

A guard announces through a megaphone that it’s ten minutes to go until curfew so Clarke makes sure she’s in her tent well before it.

She didn’t linger after conditioning, didn’t wait for Bellamy to catch up with her. She’s not sure what she’d say to him. Frankly, today has been long and interesting enough. She discovered plenty about this environment and the people in it after spending 24 hours in Mount Weather, so tomorrow is bound to bring more new things and she’s not sure she’s ready for that. She could have done with Bellamy on her side during all of this but instead, he spent the day angry at her, ignoring her unless she was about to get knocked out.

The cot creaks as she drops onto her mattress, dreading dawn already. Unless Bellamy is hellbent on still avoiding her, they’ll have to have a conversation and she doesn’t know how that will go. She doesn’t want to face Pike in case he says something about her performance at drills and she really doesn’t want to fucking go running first thing in the morning.

God, this place is tougher than she thought — for more reasons than she predicted too.

Clarke sighs as she turns her father's watch around on her wrist, forever being too big for her. There’s an ache in her heart as she thinks of home. They were told to only pack essentials coming here and for some reason, she never thought of packing a photo of her family. What she wouldn't give to see their faces right now, to talk to Wells about it all, to hear his thoughts on what she’s going to do. Can she even do this?

A noise by the door of the tent grabs her attention and she’s surprised to see Bellamy’s black curls popping through the material. He scans the tent for half a second until his eyes land on her. She stands up on instinct and it's difficult to know whether the head rush is due to that or him being here.

“Bellamy?” She watches him step towards her with tense shoulders and a serious expression on his face. “What are you doing?”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he says on an exhale, a confidence behind his voice like he has been practicing this. There’s a gleam of sweat on his skin like he spent too long around the fires outside and his camp-issued black jacket swishes when he moves.

“Bellamy, in about eight minutes, we can’t leave our tents,” Clarke tells him, a little panic starting to erupt in her chest at the thoughts of either of them getting into trouble. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

“I can’t go through the night not saying this.”

“Why didn’t you find me earlier?” To be fair, she didn’t give him much of a chance.

He gives her a long look, shaking his head as he blows out a breath. “Look, I knew it was on me.”

Clarke folds her arms across her chest, almost as if she’s raising her defence by doing that. “What are you talking about?”

“The second I signed my name on that contract, I knew I was letting Octavia go to a detention camp alone,” he says shakily, an essence of frustration in his tone.

She blinks at him, unsure of how to respond. He already looks destroyed, like guilt has somehow become personified as Bellamy Blake and intends on living like that forever.

“I told you, I never had a choice when I knew you were coming here,” he breathes, too delicate to be said so quietly in the thick, tension-soaked air between them. “But God Clarke, it was hard to live with myself after that.”

“Bellamy—”

“I was just so angry at myself." His lip curls in disgust. "I knew I could have gone with Octavia, taken the chance of us possibly being put in the same detention camp,” he explains. “But you...I couldn’t bear…”

Bellamy stutters himself into silence, sighing through his nose. He stares at the ground while Clarke studies him with her mouth agape, floored by his honesty and fragility in this moment. The guard outside announces they have five minutes until curfew. A constant countdown. Bellamy looks back up, his eyes connecting with hers like fire against paper. He steps closer to her.

“I genuinely thought I was put in here because you asked for me, I never imagined that I got in here because…” He trails off again.

Clarke reaches out, placing a palm over his chest. “Because of this.”

The air thickens around them even more and she’s certain she felt his heart skip underneath her fingertips. He nods once and his jaw clenches slightly like she affects him greatly by just her touch.

“It wasn’t fair to be angry with you either way. I was always to blame but if I said that out loud, it meant admitting that I left O.”

“I get it, Bellamy,” she whispers, dropping her hand slowly. The pain is visible on every part of him and his chest heaves like he’s trying to contain it. “I mean, I don’t, but I’m trying.”

His face falls. “You don’t get it?”

“I mean I don’t get why I’d be so important to you,” Clarke says softly. How could she understand him choosing his sister over _her_? Bellamy furrows his brow, confusion running hot over his face. “Finn was right, I’m just damaged goods. So why risk everything for me?”

Her ex boyfriend's words still hurt, having ingrained their way into her veins. They spread insecurity like a virus through her bloodstream and now, that’s all she can think about when Bellamy Blake is being so openly vulnerable with her.

“ _Clarke_.” The violence coursing through that word surprises her. He says her name with such conviction, such passion that it sends a shiver up her spine. “You are _not_ damaged. Don’t let anyone ever make you think that.”

She didn’t think he could move any closer to her but suddenly, his breath is hot on her cheek and those brown eyes of his are blown black.

“And as for the rest, it’s impossible to risk everything when my everything is already right here.”

She gapes at him. His words are a catalyst to her already quickening heartbeat, increasing the speed so much that every pulse point in her body throbs. There’s a fraction of her that wants to back away, to encourage them to keep their distance because it’s too dangerous in this place to say such massive things. But Pike has already seen their hand. What’s the point in avoiding it? She wants him.

She wants Bellamy in a way that surpasses more than just the physical aspects of him. She wants his good heart, his mind, his thoughtfulness and every single inch of his soul. She wants to love him, protect him and scream to the world that someone as divine as Bellamy could possibly love someone as messed up as her, HTS or not. She’s scared to death to want him, but God – she fucking does. And being afraid because of the danger that lies around them seems irrelevant now as his hands come around her waist.

“I know I wanted to keep you at a distance at first, maybe because I knew what would happen if I let myself walk down this road,” he says, his voice sounding rough and raw. “I knew what you’d do to me, engulf me in the fire that you are. And now I’m burning but fuck, I don’t care, Clarke. I’d choose this path again and again to get here.”

His hand is suddenly on her cheek, caressing the skin there and Clarke can’t seem to catch her breath. Her heart is about to burst at how fast it’s beating, sending blood roaring around her body at an alarming rate.

“I can’t ignore this, Clarke,” he whispers. “And I’m sick of pretending I don’t love you when it consumes everything I am.”

The invisible barrier keeping their lips apart breaks and Clarke lunges forward without thought nor heed, connecting them in the most exhilarating kiss of her life. She swears she hears Bellamy’s breath leave him in that moment. He’s warm against her, meeting her every move with equal finesse.

His hands pull her waist against him, hard and desperate like he can’t have her close enough. She knows the feeling. In all of her shared kisses with Finn, not one of them holds a candle to this. Fuck, this is happening. She’s kissing Bellamy Blake.

His fingers trail up under her t-shirt, tracing the skin above her pants lining. It makes Clarke’s legs weak and she’s sure she hasn’t taken a proper breath since they’ve started but fuck it. She’ll take every single bit of this, even if it means dying in this moment. His tongue explores hers and he moans when she pulls against the back of his neck, urging him even closer. The sound vibrates through her, causing every erogenous zone she has to throb.

“One minute until curfew!” The guard yells outside. “60 seconds, let’s go. Back to your tents.”

Clarke is the one to break their kiss, distracted by the announcement.

“You need to go,” she whispers breathlessly but Bellamy’s forehead is still pressed against hers.

“I really don’t want to.” He smiles and she huffs out a laugh.

“Go.”

She pushes against his chest softly and he steps back, grinning stupidly at her. His curls are a mess and she can’t even remember when she had her fingers in there. Everything is a blur but pronounced at the same time.

Her skin is still buzzing as she watches him walk backwards towards the door, taking his sweet time like he’s purposely trying to delay. She’s smiling so hard that she thinks her face will split, observing his swollen lips and red cheeks. That was exhilarating. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess,” he says hoarsely, like his voice is completely shot.

Her nickname now has a different charge to it, an undertone of innuendo that only intensifies the ache in her lower stomach. Clarke swallows in an attempt to control herself from doing something impulsive — like asking him to stay.

“See you tomorrow,” she replies weakly.

Bellamy gives her one last lingering stare before turning to leave. She can hear the commotion of some other carriers outside, finding their own tents for the night.

“Wait, Bellamy!” she hears herself calling.

He flicks his head back towards her, one foot already out of her tent.

She gives him a small, shy smile and shrugs her shoulders helplessly. “I love you, too.”

Bellamy grins, turning quickly and racing back towards her. He presses a hungry kiss to her lips again, so hard that it leaves her dizzy when he pulls away quickly. He darts back towards the door of the tent and gives her one last doting look before he’s gone.

Clarke blows out a long breath, biting her bottom lip as she smiles.

Day one in Mount Weather: definitely interesting.

* * *

The next two weeks in camp consists of much of the same. They run, they eat, they perform drills and they attend conditioning. The differences lie in between the lines of that schedule.

Clarke can actually run for a longer time now without feeling like she wants to die.

Ash and his two companions leave her group alone during meal times now, although they still stare at them like it'll make them suddenly drop dead at any moment.

During drills, they’re actually taught some moves now and are usually paired with someone of their own choosing. It helps them improve and gain some confidence. Clarke usually pairs up with either Harper or Raven and she enjoys it, but she doesn’t doubt that there’ll be a session like the one on their first day again at some point.

Conditioning is okay. Clarke doesn’t really see the point of it. They mainly talk about how they feel about certain situations, what they would do in different scenarios. More than anything, Clarke thinks it’s a way for Diyoza to get to know everyone properly and see what they’re made of internally.

Pike misses a lot of time at Mount Weather as he attends press conferences and interviews about HTS. He isn’t missed. There’s less pressure with him away on these trips. Clarke bets that he’s singing the praises and successes of this camp and not giving Diyoza an inch of credit, especially with her running the place while he’s gone. Carriers aren’t allowed to know any news of the outside world. They have no idea how the detention camps are going or what effects the protests are having.

Communal time at the end of the day is Clarke’s favourite time. Their little group congregates by one of the fires and they talk and laugh until their stomach’s hurt. Harper has fitted in well, taking a particular shine to Monty. They giggle and flirt shamelessly almost all the time and Clarke can’t help but beam at their budding romance. Raven and Murphy tease each other and remain the jokers of the group but Clarke can see the undertones of their affection for one another, just like she could see it in Polis. There’s something there, just neither of them are acting on it yet.

As for her and Bellamy, Clarke couldn’t be any happier. She catches him looking at her constantly throughout the day, he waits for her to catch up with him during runs, he sits beside her at meal times and during communal time, he subtly touches her in a way that sends her wild — a slight brush of the back of his hand against hers, a stroke of his thumb against her hip when they’re leaning back on the logs, his hot breath against her ear when he leans in to whisper something too inappropriate for the others to hear, a knock of his knee off her own. The butterflies take flight inside her stomach at each piece of contact.

When he smirks at her, she just wants to kiss it off his face. They’re keeping everything lowkey though. The last thing they want to do is flaunt it around camp and confirm Pike’s suspicions about the two of them and the way they care about one another. Keeping it secret is exciting in itself though. Clarke is sure the others can see it, just like she can see it with them, but they have the decency to just smirk and not say anything out loud.

The quiet moments they get to themselves are everything. They hide between the trees, desperate to makeout like the teenagers they are. Before curfew, they find each other under the cloak of darkness around the side of the Dropship building, learning about each other's bodies. They sneak moments in their tents, grinning against one anothers lips until their kissing gets heated enough to quench the giddiness. Bellamy Blake is an all consuming passion, one that Clarke can get swept away with far too easily.

Like now.

It’s half past seven and instead of joining the others by the fireside for communal time, they’ve made up some shitty excuse to pardon themselves and are currently in Clarke’s tent, tugging at one another’s clothing like wild animals.

“Fuck, Clarke.” Bellamy moans as she presses bruising kisses down his neck.

She loves when he gets like this — uncontrolled with his breathing and his noises. When the pleasure gets too much, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her hard, letting out small moans in between the breaths they take. She ends up on top of him as he sits on her mattress, her legs either side of his legs as they kiss.

“Sshh.” Clarke giggles at Bellamy as he groans into her shoulder. “This tent material isn’t soundproof.”

“So bossy,” he rumbles and she shivers involuntarily at the depth of his voice. It was always a turn on for her.

“Then do as you're told,” she warns, the tail end of a moan escaping mid-way when he bites her shoulder.

Bellamy flips her suddenly and she shrieks out a laugh, giggling as he crowds her with his body. Any humour vanishes when he captures her mouth with his again, an aching desire to have him replacing it. His hands close around her wrists, lifting them above her head where he holds them with just one then.

“Don’t forget who you really want in charge,” he breathes into her ear. “Right, Princess?”

She actually moans louder than he was being, contradicting her own warning of being quiet. He knows exactly what she likes, clearly remembering how she reacted that night in his bedroom.

“God, _Bellamy_.”

This back and forth between them during the day riles them both up and by the time they get one another alone, the heat between them is palpable. It’s only been growing the more they do this. With each passing day, their resistance grows weaker. It’s not really the most romantic place to be having firsts with the love of your life, but Clarke can’t see them finding the time as free individuals in the near future.

“So good for me, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs, trailing wet kisses down her neck.

She squirms under him, desperate for some friction. He looks at her under his eyebrows, pulling her t-shirt at a tantalising speed up her body.

“What do you want, Princess?” He presses a kiss to the bare skin on her stomach and Clarke almost bucks against him when she feels his tongue there.

“You,” she rasps, sounding absolutely wrecked. “Fuck, Bellamy. I need—”

“ _All carriers are to assemble at the camp gates immediately!_ ”

The announcement echoes in through the tent and both of them sit up straight, their breaths held like they might have heard wrong. A repetition of the sentence comes again through the megaphone and Bellamy snaps his head back to look at her.

“What the hell?” she pants, her breath coming back to her all at once.

“I don’t know but come on.” Bellamy lifts himself off the cot, tugging at his clothing to fix himself.

Clarke does the same, smoothing down her hair as they both emerge through the tent flap. Disappointment of being interrupted floods through her, the taste of Bellamy still on her lips. She watches his face dart from side to side, taking in the commotion around him. The rest of the carriers are all passing them by, mumbling questions at each other with confused faces. Bellamy beckons her go in the same direction and they set off, speed walking towards the main gates.

“Hey!” Raven grabs Clarke’s elbow. “What’s going on?”

She falls into step with them, all three of them trying to keep up with the others.

“I don’t know,” Clarke tells her, still focusing on fixing herself after her encounter with Bellamy.

Deviations from the schedule doesn’t happen so Clarke’s heart is starting to trip over itself. They find Murphy, Monty and Harper behind the crowd gathering at the front gates. They usually meet here for their daily runs and Clarke finds herself hoping that they’re just adding in an extra bout of exercise before bed — something she definitely wouldn’t have wished for before. This just makes her nervous.

Several guards are surrounding a large table equipped with several black backpacks. Coloured stripes mark each one. What grabs Clarke’s attention the most though is that Charles Pike is standing in front of the closed gates. Her heart drops at the sight of his return to camp. There's no sign of Diyoza.

“We’re going to do a different kind of exercise tonight,” he announces.

Now? At this hour? It’s pitch black.

“You will be divided into groups identified by colour,” he explains, holding a sheet of paper in his hands. “When you hear your name, assort yourselves into your teams.”

“What is this?” Harper asks quickly, panic showing in her eyes.

“I’m sure it’s just some team building exercise,” Raven offers.

Clarke and Bellamy share a look that says neither of them buy that. She listens to the names being called, her senses heightened for the ones she recognises. Taking advantage of the crowd, Clarke drops her hand and interlocks her fingers with Bellamy’s. He squeezes it in return, as if for reassurance. The gesture soothes her galloping heart.

“Red team,” Pike calls out loudly. “Jones, Stinson, Blake, Sanchez, Reyes, Murphy…”

He continues until their team is full but Clarke doesn’t hear her name being called. Damn it. She looks at Bellamy, her concern obviously evident in her gaze because he gives her hand another reassuring squeeze before he has to let go.

“It’ll be okay,” he promises, nodding at her like he has power to give her that kind of certainty.

She nods back at him as he walks away with Raven and Murphy, her heart aching already. She doesn’t want to do this without him, it makes her nervous. Not for herself, but for him. What if something happens to him?

The blue team is announced and Monty is assigned that group. He wears the same look Bellamy did as he walks away from Harper. Clarke swallows, a gnawing sensation present in her stomach.

Harper is put into the yellow group, meaning Clarke is on her own. She’s assigned the green team and as it turns out, Ash is on it too. _Great_. She has to force herself to take a breath as she walks across to them. She’s had no dealings with the other eight on her team so she takes that as a positive. Ash is smirking at her though, standing there smugly with his arms folded across himself. His face has healed nicely but there’s still some subtle yellow bruising around his jawline and nose.

Clarke averts her eyes, searching for Bellamy but she can’t find him quick enough. Pike distracts her by starting to hand out the packs, one for each carrier. Ash takes one from him with a green stripe and throws it over his shoulder without looking at it’s contents, laughing with some of the other teammates that he clearly knows.

 _Brilliant_. He has accomplices that aren’t Ontari or Echo. At least those girls are off on a different team. Clarke thinks Ontari is assigned to Harper’s group and much to Clarke’s displeasure, Echo is on Bellamy’s.

Clarke takes her own pack from Pike, noting how he looks at her with interest. He remembers her from drills, it seems. It wasn't her finest hour and Clarke hates that he remembers her because of a moment of weakness. His gaze lingers for a second before he looks away, continuing to hand out the bags.

“You will have however long it takes to retrieve your target and return them back to camp,” he explains, gesturing by nodding his head to the main gates.

They all turn to see a guard leading some random man forward. He’s in plain grey clothes with a beard and a dangerous look on his face. His hair is slicked to the side and he scans them all, committing each of their faces to memory, it seems.

“McCreary here served in the Marines not too long ago so he should give each of you a run for your money,” Pike says, clapping McCreary on the back when he reaches him. “Go on, five minute head start.”

McCreary takes off into the woods, quickly vanishing into the trees. This isn’t going to be easy.

Pike turns back to face the crowd of carriers before him. “In your packs, you’ll find a GPS along with other essentials for your mission. You can obtain the target however your team sees fit.”

Clarke glances around again for Bellamy. Fuck, why couldn’t she have been lucky enough to be on his team?

“If it’s not already obvious, you’re being evaluated on your performance. Return the target successfully and your team will be rewarded,” Pike continues. “You have five minutes to discuss your plan, starting now.”

Clarke turns to face her team and a constant hum of conversation breaks out. One guy suggests breaking into pairs while one of the girls argues that it defeats the purpose of a team exercise. Another guy starts routing through his backpack, calling out the various items in it. A pocket knife, a handheld communication radio, some rope and a flashlight are all Clarke catches before his voice is lost amongst the others.

“I think pairs are a great idea, we’ll cover more ground that way,” Ash says loudly, silencing all the talk. He’s staring at Clarke when he says it and she decides this isn’t going to be good. “Griffin, you and I will take the west side.”

She wants to argue that but her words fade at the sound of cheers and shouts. The yellow and blue team have taken off towards the woods, looking excited and determined. The yellow team splits off to the left while the blue team go straight ahead, Harper and Monty lost amongst them. Clarke presses her lips together as she slings her own pack over her shoulder. God, she hopes they’ll be okay.

This is just meant to be a task, something else to evaluate them on. Yet it doesn’t feel like that. Danger surrounds every inch of it — alone in the woods with a bunch of unpredictable carriers and no supervision.

Before she knows it, they’re all moving and Ash is sticking close to Clarke as if to prove that they are partners. He’s staring off to the right as they run towards the woods, a slick smile on his face. Clarke follows his gaze and she realises who he’s looking at. Bellamy is with his team, jogging into the woods in a different direction. His gaze is sharp on Ash, a warning there if she’s ever seen one.

She wants to close the distance between them so badly but he disappears with his team, leaving Clarke with hers.

Once in the woods, they all section off into pairs while Ash calls after them to keep their radios on station 13 for communication. He’s already adopted the role of a leader, even though nobody appointed him as one. Clarke desperately wants to ask someone else to be her partner on this mission but who would dare defy Ash at this point? He’s already chosen her.

She looks up at him as the others vanish, a heavy and uncomfortable silence growing between them. Ash, however, doesn’t seem to feel like that. He smiles widely at Clarke, gesturing with his head that they will be going straight on. Clarke swallows, following pathetically. What other choice does she have now?

She blows out a shaky breath, thinking that only minutes ago, she was wrapped up in pleasure with Bellamy in her tent. Things can really change in the blink of an eye in this place. What she wouldn’t give to be back there, consumed by him. Now, she’s alone with Ash as they perform some stupid task for Pike.

They keep a steady pace as they walk. Every few seconds, they hear other teams through the woods. They shout and laugh like morons, snapping twigs and diving through bushes like a herd of elephants.

“Idiots,” Ash mutters.

At least they can agree on that. The target will easily evade them with all that noise. The quieter they are, the better their chances. Clarke steers them off away from the racket which earns her another slimy grin from Ash, like he’s impressed with her. Fuck him.

They’ve walked for a good ten minutes in silence when Clarke pulls out her GPS from her pack, studying the layout. The camp and the perimeter walls are already plugged in which is good. It’s easy to follow. Ash does the same, except he takes out his pocket knife as well. Clarke eyes it warily, watches how he twirls it between his fingers like it’s an extension of his arm.

Why would they put such an item in their backpacks? What is Pike expecting? He’s arming dangerous carriers, as he sees them. What good could possibly come of that? Are they meant to use it on the target, or on each other?

Maybe she should have taken hers out too. The sudden realisation sends a knot to the centre of Clarke’s stomach.

“So on edge, Clarke,” Ash comments but she ignores him. The less interaction between them, the better.

It’s a pity she doesn’t get away with that.

“So, you and Blake.”

“What about us?” Clarke snaps, not looking back at him as she takes a bit of a lead.

“Nothing.” She can hear the grin in his voice. “You just seem pretty tight.”

“We’re from the same town,” she mutters, not offering anything else. As dangerous as it is for Pike to know about them, it somehow seems even worse for Ash to know the truth.

“It’s nice to have someone close to you in here,” Ash says, a smugness in his tone. “I mean, I have Echo. She’d do anything to protect me, too.”

Clarke wants to ask if he’d do anything to protect her but she assumes that kind of loyalty is one sided. Ash doesn’t seem the type to be so selfless with another human, even his sister.

Branches break underneath his boots and she rolls her eyes. They’re supposed to be quiet and he’s insistent on making noise and keeping up conversation.

“Although, it’s a different kind of love, right?”

Clarke turns around now, halting in her movements. Ash stops too, a glint in his eye that’s reflective off the moonlight.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, what we have is sibling love.”

He shrugs like it’s obvious, twirling the blade between his fingers. That reflects off the moonlight too, a warning beacon that goes straight to Clarke’s heart. He’s constantly displaying the power he has, and that power is his lack of conscience. People are liable to do anything without one.

“And what do you think Bellamy and I have?”

Ash just stares at her, a smirk growing on his lips. He takes a step towards her while Clarke takes a step backwards. “Something I’d like to explore with you as well.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clarke cocks her chin up. “Bellamy and I are just friends.”

Ash goes to take another step towards her, a devilish look in his eyes. “Is that so?”

Her heart leaps in her chest, wishing to God she was clever enough to take out her pocket knife. He moves even closer to her and she considers running, or swinging her fist. She's not sure which to go with.

“Hey Princess, you taking a walk in the woods?”

Bellamy’s rough voice shatters through anything that could have possibly come from that scenario and Clarke’s chest practically heaves with relief. She spins, finding him walking towards her with his team following in tow. Raven and Murphy take up the rear, approaching them with wary and concerned looks on their expressions. Bellamy’s dark curls flip back as he lifts his head, his eyes sharp on Ash.

“Bellamy,” she sighs out, smiling.

Ash’s face has twisted into annoyance. “Blake, you sure know how to ruin my big moments.”

“Think you inflate those moments a little too much,” Bellamy bites back, placing his hand on the small of Clarke’s back. It sends a shiver through her.

“Well stay moving, this is our area,” Ash snaps, his eyes following Bellamy’s movement.

“Don’t see your name on it,” Bellamy grits out. It’s then that Clarke notices the knife in his other hand. Bellamy grips it tighter like he's prepared to use it.

“Come now, brother.”

Echo appears out of his team, curling her hand around Bellamy’s shoulder on the other side. Clarke clenches her teeth, a burning sensation rising up into her throat. She needs to back up.

“We’re only passing through,” Echo smirks, looking at Bellamy as she says it.

She runs her fingers into his hair playfully but Bellamy is quicker. He snaps his head away, irritated. Clarke would be smug about it if she wasn’t so pissed off. Still, it’s not like she can show it. All it would do is confirm everybody’s suspicions of them being together.

“Come on,” Bellamy mutters shortly, beckoning to his team.

He gives Clarke a lingering stare before he moves past them, a silent communication there that tells her to be careful. She nods back at him, watching him until he disappears into the darkness of the trees. The emptiness she feels when he's gone is nothing short of horrific. It's like one half of her is missing.

When she looks back to Ash, he has an eyebrow quirked and his cocky smile back in place. He seems less threatened when Bellamy isn’t around. “Just friends, huh?”

Clarke scoffs, spinning on her heel. “Do we have a target to obtain or are we just going to stand around discussing irrelevant things?”

Ash doesn’t say anything else as he follows her but her heart is banging at the thoughts of him knowing what Bellamy and her have. That kind of knowledge is something that can be detrimental when placed in the wrong hands. She just hopes it will never be used against them.

* * *

They walk for a good half an hour before the rest of the woods fall silent.

The other carriers seem to have figured out that stealth is the best course of action to catch McCreary. There’s been little communication from the rest of their team and Clarke wonders if they’re just flouncing about aimlessly, none of them having a clue of what they’re doing.

Ash and Clarke find themselves behind a large bush, squatting with their knives in their hand. Clarke checks the GPS — they’re not far from the perimeter wall. The moon is disappearing behind clouds every few minutes, draping the entire forest in a gloomy darkness. It makes the place seem eerie.

“Heard we lost our first soldier yesterday,” Ash whispers out of nowhere.

His voice sounds odd and Clarke wonders if it’s because they haven’t spoken in ages or if it’s because his tone is actually genuine, absent of condescension and teasing.

She looks across at him, his eyes searching the clearing out in front of them through the bush. “What?”

“I heard the guards talking about it,” he hisses. “Some kid named Thomas. Found in the woods before dawn.”

Clarke blinks. She never heard anything. “What happened?”

“Suicide, I think.”

Ash flips the knife in his fingers, craning his neck for a better view of the clearing. The whole place is deathly quiet. No animals make any sounds — even the crickets have shut up.

“That’s awful,” Clarke whispers, her heart growing heavy for that boy and his family.

Did he really hate the place so much? Hate his life? It’s not like she’s never thought about it. Back when things were really bad, when she could see nothing good about her situation at all, she did think of it as an easy way out. That was when she felt alone, though. Would she still be here without Bellamy and the others? The thought is sobering.

The moon breaks from the clouds and the entire forest lights up in a grey glow. Ash shifts on his hunkers. “I think he’ll be replaced, though.”

Clarke snaps her eyes to him. “Why do you think that?”

Ash shrugs. “Think Pike wants 100 carriers in this camp for a reason.”

“But he said we’ll be sent to detention camps if we don’t perform.”

“Yeah and there’s probably a thousand carriers lined up to take our place.” Ash looks at her now, a seriousness in his eyes that she’s never seen. “We’re all replaceable, Clarke, don’t let them make you believe you’re special.”

A quiet snap of a branch makes them fall silent, both of their eyes trained on where it came from. Clarke doesn’t get time to think about what Ash has said because her focus is sucked in on their target. The outline of a figure drops low into some shrubbery, the shadow of his head darting in every direction. _McCreary_.

He stays hidden for a few minutes but Ash and Clarke wait him out, both of them oddly on the same page. McCreary needs to feel safe, like no-one is watching him. Clarke’s breath is held in her lungs and her heart is somewhere in her throat at this point. It’s clear that McCreary’s intention is to escape over the perimeter wall. If he gets there, he wins.

“Ash,” Clarke murmurs.

“Wait,” he warns.

McCreary advances quietly, obviously an expert at moving undetected. When he’s close, about six feet away, Ash nods at Clarke.

They move in unison, bursting out through the bush. McCreary’s eyes widen before he turns, sprinting the other way. Ash is faster though. He catches up quickly and dives on McCreary, tackling him to the ground. He delivers a solid blow to the face and the target’s head bounces off the forest floor.

“Ash, what the hell are you doing?” Clarke yells.

“Pike said we can obtain him by whatever means necessary,” he grunts back, punching McCreary again.

Of course he would choose violence. Clarke imagines that even if Ash wasn’t a dangerous sort of person, he would leave this camp conditioned to be one. The other carriers and Pike himself give that impression.

It seems Ash, all brute force and no sense, doesn’t think too far ahead. Military trained McCreary manages to gain the upper hand. He easily escapes Ash’s grasp by lifting his hand and striking Ash into the nose — _his already fragile nose_. He howls in pain as McCreary scrambles up and takes off running again.

He would have gotten away if Clarke wasn’t ready for it. She somehow trips him before he can take two steps and he crashes to the ground again with a grunt. She turns him over and without even thinking, presses her knife against his throat.

She blinks at herself, wondering where that instinct came from. Shock ripples through her veins because she never envisioned herself doing something so violent, even though it’s only a threat.

“Don’t move,” she manages to get out but it sounds unconfident. It has the desired effect though.

With one hand, she pulls off her backpack and finds the rope inside. She tosses it at McCreary, gesturing for him to start binding himself in it. It’s not like she has any spare hands to do it herself and Ash is useless to her, still rolling around on the forest floor cupping his bloodied nose.

McCreary does as he’s told but he’s staring at Clarke with a fear she doesn’t understand. Once he has himself halfway binded to the point that he can’t get free, Clarke takes over tightening them. She leaves herself a long piece to lead him back to camp.

“You can let me go, you know. You don’t have to do this,” McCreary suddenly blurts out.

Clarke furrows her brow at him. “It’s just a training exercise.”

“I had him, Griffin,” Ash interrupts, dragging himself to his feet. He wipes his hand against his nose, smearing blood across his face.

“For a brief moment before you let him go,” Clarke responds, pulling herself and McCreary to their feet.

Ash grumbles and mutters under his breath as they begin their walk back to camp. He radio’s the rest of the team telling them they’ve found the target and they all rendez-vous about five minutes away from camp. Ash takes the rope from Clarke when they see their team approaching, waving the end of it in the air to announce victory. It earns him whoops and praise from the others but Clarke doesn’t care. The green team won, that's all that matters here.

When Pike sees their team approaching with the target, he sounds a bell that signals the end of the exercise. The guards take McCreary from them and Ash turns around, sharing a rare genuine smile with the rest of them. They’re all excited to have won. The other teams trickle back to camp, some of them kicking the ground underneath them and scowling at the green team.

Clarke spots Bellamy and her chest loosens with relief. He’s okay and he’s here. A similar look is mirrored in his own body language. His eyes are stuck on her as he approaches, Raven and Murphy in tow. She grins at him and he beams back, nodding at McCreary. She can read the question on his face easily: were they the team to acquire the target?

She nods and he gives her a subtle thumbs up, pride etched into his features.

Monty and Harper fall into line beside Raven, facing Pike and the green team. All of them share the same look as Bellamy. They’re proud of her. Clarke is just happy to have redeemed herself in front of Pike after the first day at drills.

Pike steps out into no-man's-land between the green team and the others and motions to Clarke’s group. “Our winners for today’s exercise!”

The rest of the carriers clap, albeit a little unenthusiastically. Even Echo and Ontari are even silent in their congratulations for Ash. All of them are except for Clarke’s friends who are cheering and whistling. Clarke winks at them, grateful for the support.

She can do this. If there’s a path to succeed in this camp, she can follow it. She looks to her left at Ash, dry blood caked underneath his nose but there’s gleam in his eye when he glances at her. He looks at her differently now, some respect there. She’ll take it over the death glares any day.

“But be under no illusion, this was just a practice run,” Pike says and Clarke snaps her gaze back to him. “The next exercise will be tougher and more gruelling. Don’t worry, all of you will have the chance to redeem yourselves. You’ll have a chance to catch McCreary here again.”

Clarke looks across to where McCreary is standing with the guards. For a moment, she could have sworn a mixture of relief and dread crossed his face at Pike’s words.

She wonders what exactly they’re training for here. There’s a growing pit in her stomach as she thinks back on Ash’s words to her in the woods. It makes her question what exactly Pike wants them here for. Maybe the final test will be one she can’t pass.

* * *

As a reward, the winners didn't have to participate in this morning's run.

Clarke is hanging out at the main gates of camp, waiting for Bellamy to cross the finish line. She feels refreshed after having a lie in and is looking forward to breakfast with Bellamy and the others after their exercise.

It seems Ash has turned back into his arrogant self. He shoots Clarke a sleazy, flirtatious look when he emerges from his tent, stretching his arms and winking at her. She rolls her eyes and turns her back on him. She can’t figure him out, can’t understand if he’s just a complete asshole or if there’s a fraction of him that’s somewhat decent underneath all that bravado.

Her heart lights up to see Bellamy approaching in the distance, his dark curls dripping in sweat. He smiles when he sees her, picking up speed and finishing his run in record time.

"Lazing about this morning, Princess?" he pants, slowing to a stop in front of her.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Mr. Blake?" she teases, shoving him playfully. She makes a face when her hand comes away wet from his black t-shirt and he laughs.

"That'll teach you to keep your hands to yourself."

Clarke falls into step with him as they walk towards the Dropship for breakfast. "Oh is that what you want?"

He pins her with a warning look. "Definitely not."

He knocks his shoulder against hers, extracting a giggle from her chest. "I didn't think so."

“How about we use Independent Study today to learn something new?” he asks, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Like what?” Clarke grins back at him, knowing exactly what he’s implying.

“I don’t know,” he rumbles. “We'll see where the time takes us.”

She smirks. "Hmm. Sounds like a plan."

Being so carefree with him like this makes this camp seem less daunting. It makes her feel like everything will be okay. Even though she dreads every element of their exercises, both running and tasks, Bellamy just makes it that more bearable.

He winks at her before looking forward, only to stop dead in his tracks. Clarke looks at him curiously before following his gaze, landing on Charles Pike standing at the Dropship door. In front of him is a girl with long, dark hair and striking features. She has her hands clasped behind her back, her chin tilted up like she's ready to follow every order like a good little soldier.

Bellamy’s complexion has paled as he stares at her and Clarke divides her stare between them and him. Her mouth has opened in shock, absorbing the sight before them. She can't possibly be seeing this right.

Octavia Blake is in Mount Weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final results from the [Bellarke Fic Awards](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com) are in. I know I haven't updated you guys since the semi-finals but I made it to the final 13 times thanks to your votes. As for the results, this fic actually won " **Best Alternate Universe Fic (WIP)** " and I swear, I have the biggest imposter syndrome right now. The other fics up there with me in all the categories are absolute classics and I just feel so proud to be among them. I also won the category of " **Best Angst Writer** ". Thank you all for your support and votes, it means so much to me.
> 
> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	16. Tell Me How to Be in This World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your patience, as usual.
> 
> A special shout out to Ciara (icantloseyou-too) for constantly hyping me up about this, pre-reading it and leaving me long notes of encouragement when i feel like i’m writing garbage. I’ll forever love you.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Us - James Bay

* * *

_Monday, June 5, 2023._ _More than 100,000 registered carriers._

**Letter for Clarke Griffin:**

Dear Clarke,

They said we could write to you, but I don’t know if you’re able to write back. My last two letters have gone unanswered. I guess it’s enough to know that you’re getting these and know we are thinking of you — and that’s all the time, Clarke.

I miss you like crazy. It’s weird to be in the house without you. Dad and Abby are good. They’re trying to keep things as normal as possible but I can tell they’re stressed.

The daily news doesn’t help. Things are bad out here, they’ve quarantined more cities here and I’ve heard they’ve even locked down whole countries around the world. No travel is permitted in or out, like carriers can somehow spread their “gene” like a virus. The numbers of positive carriers are jumping higher every day, too. Many are running, trying to get to Mexico, but anyone caught crossing the border is shot on sight by patrols. They aren’t testing over there but they don’t want our carriers either.

I hope you and Bellamy are looking after one another. Abby bumped into his mother at the hospital, apparently she hasn’t been eating much since the detention announcement. She told Abby that Bellamy was accepted in Mount Weather too. To be honest, I was relieved to hear it. I know he’ll keep you safe.

Anyway, that’s all I can really say. I want to tell you so much more but just know that I am doing everything I can to fight for you out here. I think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

I’ll write to you again next week. Remember that promise you made me? Don’t give up, no matter what.

I love you, never forget it.

**\- Sent by Wells Jaha. Never opened. Destroyed upon receipt at Mount Weather.**

* * *

Bellamy almost trips over himself as he tries to get to Octavia. The second Pike walks away, her brother crashes into her like a tornado, scooping her up in his arms and spinning her around.

Clarke’s jaws ache from how hard she’s smiling, watching the two of them laugh with the relief of seeing each other again. It’s almost too good to be true: Octavia is in Mount Weather looking absolutely fine and the Blake siblings are reunited. The sound of Bellamy’s chuckle vibrates through Clarke’s chest, lighting her up inside. To see him so happy, God, it’s infectious.

They skip breakfast and join Octavia in her allocated tent. Clarke figures it belonged to the boy that took his own life in the forest, the one Ash told her about. It feels wrong standing in here, thinking about a life that could be so easily replaced. Clarke shivers and rubs her arms, glancing around the eerie tent material.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Bellamy grins, sitting down on the cot as Octavia begins finger combing her long hair.

“Yeah, well, worked my ass off for it,” Octavia says, a hair tie between her teeth. “We were told a spot opened up, so we had this conclave competition. Last one standing, that kind of thing.”

Clarke watches a crease forming between Bellamy’s brows. “What, like fighting?”

“Yeah.” Octavia nods like it’s no big deal.

Clarke senses the euphority of the reunion vanishing, reality setting in like a large stone in a bucket of water. It didn’t last long, but what does in these times?

Bellamy adjusts himself a little straighter on the bed, staring at his sister like it’s been years since he laid eyes on her. He must be thinking the same thing as Clarke, that this competition is probably nothing like the sparring they do here. In detention camps, their guards are there to control them, not train them. This fighting would be much more brutal than that, like some kind of ring battle.

“Since when do you know how to _fight_?”

His tone obviously rubs Octavia up the wrong way, accusatory and judgemental. “Things have changed, big brother. _I’ve_ changed.”

“Clearly.”

“Hey. You don’t know what those camps were like,” Octavia snaps.

The guilt washes over Bellamy’s face in an instant and Clarke’s heart lunges for him. It’s a hard blow, especially considering how much Bellamy beat himself up over leaving his sister in the detention camp alone.

“Alright, let’s just take a breath,” Clarke pipes up, her eyes still on Bellamy.

Things had seemed so peaceful just moments ago. Hell, the Blakes haven’t even caught up properly yet.

“No, I don’t know what they were like,” he mumbles quietly to Octavia. “But you’re here now. It’s all okay.”

Octavia pulls her hair into a ponytail, sweeping it back off her face tightly. “It will be okay. As long as Pike thinks I’m here to play the part of his loyal follower.”

“Wait.” Bellamy stands up from the cot now, his brown eyes laser sharp on his sister. “What do you mean, as long as Pike _thinks_? What _are_ you here for?”

Clarke steps back against the wall of the tent, watching the interaction carefully. The eerie feeling that’s eroding its way into her stomach no longer has anything to do with being in a tent belonging to a dead boy.

Octavia spins around, her body language screaming out that she’s tough and seasoned. A very different girl than the one Clarke met at Bellamy’s home just a short time ago. “I’m going to kill him, Bell.”

The air is sucked out of the space in an instant. Bellamy’s eyes light up with the fires of hell as he takes a harsh step forward.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” he hisses.

“Think about it.” Octavia smiles like this is some genius idea. “HTS and everything that goes along with it dies with him.”

“That’s not how it’ll work, Octavia,” Clarke joins in. “You can’t seriously expect —”

“Who asked you?” she bites, venom behind her eyes. It’s almost as if she’s gotten used to this kind of hostility with people.

“ _Hey_!” Bellamy raises his voice defensively. “Clarke is right. You really think doing that would end all of this?”

Octavia’s eyes harden, the same way as Bellamy’s do when he’s completely pissed off. Because apparently, despite having the frame of a toothpick, Octavia seems to have the temper of a volatile dog. “Even if it doesn’t, Pike needs to pay for what he’s done.”

Bellamy takes a step back, disbelief filling his face. “And since when are you so vengeful?”

“Maybe if you took a second to pay attention to what actually goes on my life —”

“You know I pay attention!”

“Obviously not enough!” Octavia yells over him.

“You can’t just come in here —”

“You’re not my keeper, Bellamy!”

“This mark on the side of my neck says different!”

“Oh this is always what it comes back to! I didn’t ask you to do that!”

“You didn’t have —”

“Always the hero, isn’t that the way —”

“Two weeks in a detention camp and now you think —”

Suddenly, the tent is filled with a cacophony of shouts, both of the Blakes shouting at one another but neither listening to what is being said. Clarke can only stare at the scene before her, wondering how this took such a drastic turn.

“ _Enough!_ ” Clarke roars. Silence sprinkles through the tent immediately. She storms into the middle of them. “Are you so stupid to be screaming about such a thing in the middle of a crowded camp?”

Bellamy and Octavia pant for breath, both of them still eyeing one another with malice.

“Take a break,” Clarke orders, turning to Bellamy and shoving him out of the tent. “Go. Now. Come on.”

She hears Octavia blow out a harsh breath as they leave. Clarke follows Bellamy to his tent, watching how he snaps the flap open aggressively. He pushes his hair back out of his eyes with his nails, breathing deeply with frustration.

“Did you hear her in there?” he demands, pointing in the direction of Octavia’s tent.

“I know.”

“Jesus,” he growls. “I don’t even recognise her. She’s like some blood red queen, barking out kill orders.”

“It got out of hand,” Clarke says calmly. “Maybe when she has time to think, she’ll realise it’s a bad idea.”

Bellamy scoffs. “She came in here with the idea so I doubt it.”

Her eyes soften, an ache blowing up inside her chest at the sight of him so distressed. He starts pacing his tent, looking like his mind is going a mile a minute. He picks up a blanket that has fallen off his bed, balls it up and tosses it roughly across the room. It knocks his belongings off the makeshift table: a book, a picture frame with Octavia and his mother in it and another frame with the drawing Clarke sketched. His most prized possessions.

He’s angry. Clarke gets it. She can’t imagine the worry and the fear he’s facing. They have their second run soon, one that Clarke isn’t exempt from, so they don’t have much time. She takes a step towards him, grabbing his hand as he walks.

“Clarke,” he sighs, like he doesn’t want to stop or be comforted.

Tough.

She links her arms around his torso, forcing him to stand still. Despite his objection, his own hands fold around her waist after a second. She leans her head against his chin, swaying with him until she feels his heart slow down.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispers against his t-shirt.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It will be.”

It’s the way he says it that makes Clarke pull back a little, looking up at him with confusion. He doesn’t wait for her to ask.

“We’re leaving, Clarke.”

She just stares at him. “Now who’s lost their mind?”

“We have to get out of Mount Weather. We can’t stay here and wait for O to do whatever the hell she’s gonna do.”

“She’s all talk, Bellamy,” Clarke utters.

“You don’t know Octavia, once she sets her mind to something...” he trails off. “I can’t let her do this. My sister, my responsibility.”

“Bellamy.” Clarke stares at him, hardly able to believe he’s even suggesting this. “You were the one that reasoned with me in my room that day, we have nowhere to go.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” he says evenly. “We’ll survive. Stay away from the public. Maybe in a forest somewhere. We’ll dig in and keep our heads down.”

“Bellamy, this camp is our one chance to make it in the real world.”

“Clarke, come on.” Bellamy shakes his head. “You know as well as I do that something more is at play here.”

“And if we’re caught? Where do you think they’ll send us?”

“Look, the others have been talking about it too,” Bellamy tells her. “Raven, Murphy, Harper and Monty. They all think —”

“No. Listen to me.” Clarke takes his arms in hers, a little hurt that they’ve all been discussing this without her. “We had our chance to go.”

“And I should have taken it,” Bellamy admits quietly.

“But you didn’t.” Clarke slides her hands down to his. “And now we’re here.”

“So this is my fault?” Bellamy snaps himself away from her, disconnecting their contact completely.

“Of course not.” Clarke tilts her head at him. “We just have to see this through.”

“Until when?” Bellamy asks bitterly. “Where do you see this ending, Clarke?”

Her chest swells with emotion, hating that _they’re_ fighting now. Is it in the air today? He looks at her expectantly, like he’s hoping she’ll agree with him. She can’t. It’s a foolish move, one he’s making because he’s worried about his sister. He’s making decisions based off his heart and she needs to be the head in this right now.

He must tell by her face that she’s not budging on this because he bites his lip and puts his hands on his hips, defeat etched into his eyes.

“Bellamy.”

“We’re going to be late for our run.”

His tone is sharp, final. He stares at her for a moment longer before storming past her and out of the tent. She can’t move, stuck to the floor. Fuck. She blows out a shaky breath, smothering it in her hands as she brings them to her face.

It’s residual anger from his argument with his sister, Clarke knows it is. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

* * *

Octavia arriving in camp threw a spanner into the life they had grown accustomed to.

Bellamy is constantly on edge, one eye always on his sister no matter what they’re doing. She, however, fits seamlessly into routine as if she’s been here since the beginning. Running is no issue for her at all, she excels at drills and she gets on brilliantly with their friends.

Bellamy never approached the arguments again, neither with Clarke or Octavia. All three of them now exist like they never happened, pretending that their words didn’t hurt one another or that their plans aren’t still in action.

They’re all civil and from the outside, it seems like everything is fine. Clarke knows it’s not. Her and Bellamy haven’t been close in two days and it’s killing her. She yearns for the taste of his lips and the feel of his hands against her skin. The two of them are too stubborn to break, though.

Conditioning was cancelled today because Diyoza is out of camp again. Clarke hasn’t seen her in ages and she feels less and less safe in here without her.

They’re sitting on the logs outside the tents now, everyone enjoying the extra long communal time this evening. On another day, Clarke would be using it to steal a private moment alone with Bellamy.

He’d have to look her in the eye for that right now.

Instead, Clarke is watching Octavia’s dark hair reflect off the fire’s light, an almost plastic shine to it. She’s pretty and has confidence in spades, that much is obvious given how she just slides into conversation with whoever sits beside her. Clarke knows what it’s like to be popular but since being diagnosed with the HTS gene, it seems impossible to be at ease with other people. It’s clearly something Octavia never lost.

The other carriers are particularly interested. She attracts attention like a thief to gold, leaving swooning teenagers in her wake — much to Bellamy’s annoyance. Clarke watched him grit his teeth when Ash winked at his sister, observed how he rolled his eyes when Atom made her laugh with a stupid joke. Octavia is a catalyst for heart failure with her brother and if it weren’t for the bloodlust in her eyes every time she sees Charles Pike, Clarke would pin her as an innocent schoolgirl who is addicted to flirting.

Clarke looks over her shoulder to see Bellamy talking with Pike at the door of the Dropship. His arms are folded as he listens to Pike, nodding his head along with whatever conversation is occuring. Her stomach tightens, hating how Pike seems to favour Bellamy. She’s not jealous of it, she’s worried.

Bellamy was right when he said that something feels off in here. Clarke had been trying to ignore it but it becomes more obvious when she gets nervous by Pike just being next to someone she loves.

“Hey.”

Octavia is suddenly beside Clarke when she turns around, her striking green eyes popping against the flames of the fire.

“Hi.”

Octavia looks over Clarke’s head, spotting Pike and Bellamy herself. “What does _he_ want with Bell?”

“No idea.” Clarke knows by just a glance at Octavia’s face that she shares the same uncertainty about that interaction as she does.

“That just spells trouble,” she points out.

The other carriers laugh and chat, oblivious to their conversation. Clarke just grows more anxious at that statement, even though she knows Octavia’s views on Pike.

Pike might be the reason her life went to shit and she can dislike him, but killing him isn’t the option here. There has to be another way: a path that can lead them to have a purpose in the outside world while keeping their humanity as well.

“Look, Octavia, this camp is different from the others.” Clarke is careful with the volume level of her voice, determined not to let the others hear what they’re discussing. “We can really make something of ourselves in here.”

Octavia scoffs. “Is that what he has you all believing?”

“It’s true,” Clarke argues. At least, she thinks it is. “Pike has a plan for us.”

“Pike always has a plan.” Octavia turns more on the log, facing Clarke sharply. “And it’s always the same one. Prove his theory is correct.”

It can’t be as simple as that. HTS might be his livelihood, maybe his claim to fame. But surely he can’t be so evil as to ruin thousands of lives just to keep himself in power. Can he?

“Come on,” Octavia presses, her eyes alight with determination. “Every time a carrier does something violent, it reinforces his whole system. The world believes it, hell, even the _carrier_ believes it.”

“And what, you won’t reinforce his system by being the one to kill him?” Clarke hisses, looking around as she says it. “You do this and you are what they say we are.”

“They’re going to think that anyway.”

“That’s not the mentality to have about this,” Clarke scolds.

Octavia holds her hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is maybe it’s time we change the way we do things here. Because I know I’m done following orders.”

Clarke’s eyes snap to hers. “Octavia.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Clarke,” she sighs, poking at the fire in front of her with a stick. “But we can’t just do nothing.”

Clarke stares at her blankly, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in her mind. She knew Octavia was free willed, strong spirited, but stupid? No. How can she think that she can bring Pike and his whole organisation down by herself?

“Look, Bellamy wants to run,” Clarke whispers, glancing over her shoulder.

“Suicide,” Octavia mutters, prodding the fire again. Clarke can’t really argue with that.

“I agree, but your plan to fight our way out is what, child’s play?”

Octavia smirks at that. “Better than running. Come on, he’ll listen to you.”

“I’m not convincing him of anything, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Clarke sits up straighter, adamant that they’re not even venturing down this path. Even if she wanted to, she doesn’t think she could. He still wants to leave, despite her reservations. “Besides, it’s not like we’re on great terms at the moment.”

“I’m sorry if I caused a rift between you two,” Octavia says gently and Clarke looks at her upon hearing the sincerity in her tone. “You bring out another side of him, you know?”

Clarke blinks at her, glowing like a firefly from the light of the flames. She watches Octavia’s eyes drift over to Bellamy once more, a softness there that she seems to hide quite well. In that moment, Clarke can really see the love there, the admiration for her brother.

She smiles, giggling a little. “For weeks, all I heard about was Clarke Griffin from school.”

Clarke can’t help but mirror her grin. “Really?”

Octavia nods. “Clarke is really good at art. Clarke was accepted into Sanctum University. Clarke is really brave. Clarke this, Clarke that.”

They both laugh, joy bursting in Clarke’s chest that Bellamy spoke about her like that. Finn never cared about her art at all but Bellamy spent his time talking about it with his sister? The image is endearing. Their laughter fades out and Octavia looks over at him again.

“I know he acts tough and he’s stubborn sometimes, but Bellamy is more than that,” Octavia says quietly.

Clarke doesn’t say anything, her mind wrapped up by Octavia’s words.

“I know him better than anyone and trust me when I tell you this, Clarke.” She folds her arms over her lap and leans forward. “He doesn’t let people in. His walls are always up — with him, me and mom on one side and everyone else on the other.”

It’s not hard to believe that. It brings Clarke back to the Bellamy she first knew, the one that told her he wouldn’t be coming to her rescue anymore.

“Yet somehow, you turned to oxygen.” Octavia smiles now, genuine and wide. “You flowed through the cracks of his walls and seeped into his lungs. You’re a breath of fresh air to him and no matter how hard he tries to exhale or hold out, he can’t help but take another breath.”

Without realising, tears have sprung to Clarke’s eyes. Her heart has started to ache with longing for Bellamy right now, yearning for him to be close with her after hearing this.

“He needs you to survive, Clarke.”

Octavia gives Clarke’s arm a squeeze, holding her gaze for a few moments more before Raven plonks herself down beside them, oblivious to what she’s just walked in on.

“You know Murphy has a hidden supply of chocolate under his bed in his tent?” she asks in disbelief. “Apparently, he’s been taking two bars every evening from the Dropship after dinner.”

Clarke can’t form any words, numb after what Octavia has just said. She never intended to have that effect on Bellamy but the more she thinks about it, he has that effect on her too.

“And how do you know what’s under his bed?” Octavia laughs, knocking her shoulder off Raven’s.

Clarke is zoning out though, hardly able to think. All she can concentrate on is how fast her heart is beating. She instantly feels bad for pulling against Bellamy’s ideas to keep them all safe. Even if it’s not something she agrees with, she shouldn’t have shot him down. He’s worried about his sister, it’s only natural that he wants to protect her.

She looks over her shoulder for him once more but he’s not at the door of the Dropship anymore. Instead, she finds him stalking off towards his tent — seemingly not in the mood for socialising tonight.

After everything Octavia just said, being at odds with him seems stupid. Fuck. This has gone on long enough. She gets up and makes her way towards his tent, the pain in her chest pushing her every step. By the time she opens his tent flap, she’s almost panting.

Bellamy is standing at his makeshift table with his book in his hand and he looks up when she comes in. He must see her state and mistake it for distress. In half a second, he darts forward with concern washed all over his face.

“Clarke?”

It’s like a gun goes off. She surges towards him, crashing against his lips like waves on a shore. It takes him by surprise but he doesn’t pull back, in fact, he gives as good as he gets. Clarke swears her lips will bruise from the pressure but it’s exactly what she wants. Her back bends and she arches into him, moaning when his hands graze her lower back and pull her even closer.

They might have been off with one another but now, it’s like their tiff never happened. Bellamy is just as absorbed by her as she is with him. It doesn’t take long for their passion to heat up, not that it ever does. It’s easy to get swept away in one another and it’s no different now. Clarke lets her fingers curl into his hair as he bites down on her lip, extracting another moan from the base of her throat. 

She pulls on his t-shirt, leading him with her towards his cot without ever parting her lips from his. The need for him is stronger than ever, the desire pulsating between her legs only magnified by Octavia’s words. He’s a good man, decent and kind. She can’t spend another second not having him.

The rush of the moment leads them to undressing each other, not giving a damn about the others outside or where they are. They are all there is, all that exists in this pocket of time.

All her insecurities of being damaged goods fail to make themselves known, forgotten with the touch of Bellamy’s fingers on her waist and the taste of his lips against hers. He never makes her think that, never makes Finn’s parting gift anything more past hollow words. She put off this kind of intimacy with Finn, maybe sensing deep down that he didn’t deserve this part of her. With Bellamy, she doesn’t even have to think about it. She’s his until the end of time.

The back of her knees meet his bed and she falls down onto it, bringing him with her so he lands gently on top of her. She wraps her legs around his torso and pulls him flush against her, making Bellamy groan.

Still, he doesn’t move much further. He braces himself on one forearm while his other hand cups her face and all he does is kiss her, worshiping her mouth so well that it makes her body ache. He steals her breath with the most amazing kisses, swallowing her sighs and consuming her very soul. She needs him closer though, as near as she can get him.

“Bellamy.”

His name comes out strained from her throat but she can’t help it, he’s driving her insane. He smirks against the corner of her mouth and trails his fingers slowly up her bare thigh. The sensation of Bellamy’s skin on hers is euphoric, his chest pressing against hers. No wonder experts rave about skin-to-skin contact for emotional and mental health because being with Bellamy like this makes every single bad thing that has happened to Clarke just vanish. Nothing else matters now: just this.

“You sure about this, Princess?” he asks her, just as breathless as she is.

“I’m sure,” she promises. _God, so fucking sure._

Bellamy trails hard kisses down her throat, moving south until he’s between her legs. At this point, Clarke is practically gasping. He knows her rhythm by heart at this point and gets her to the brink with hardly any effort at all. Maybe it’s because she wants him so much already or maybe it’s in anticipation of what’s to come, but when she falls over the edge, she almost screams.

“We need to be quiet, Princess,” he whispers in her ear afterwards, grinding on top of her while she’s still coming down.

“I don’t care,” she slurs, still in a blissful state.

“You want to stop here?” Bellamy asks, ever the gentleman.

Clarke shakes her head rapidly and their eyes connect, a questionable look deep inside his. He knows this is a big step for her. They’ve done _stuff_ before but never this. _She’s_ never done this.

“Clarke, —” he begins but she cuts him off quickly.

“I want this Bellamy, I want you.”

He drops his head and plants a kiss on her lips, softer than before. “If you want to stop at any point, just tell me, okay?”

God, this man. Over a month ago, Clarke was half arguing with Finn so he’d keep his hands to himself for a minute. Now, she has Bellamy who couldn’t be more respectful if he tried.

She smiles up at him as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. His curls are drooping down over his forehead and there’s so much adoration in his eyes, it fills her heart with warmth.

“What?” he asks lowly, a boyish smile on his face.

“I just love you,” she whispers back.

At this, his whole face lights up, like it does every time she tells him that. “And I love you. So much, Clarke.”

The moment is tender between them, fragile like a thin pane of glass. Bellamy leans down again, kissing her until her head spins. It heats back up again in a fraction of a second and Clarke folds her ankles around the small of his back, encouraging him to start. He gets the message, guiding himself into her tantalizing slow.

Every second, Clarke braces herself for some kind of pain. She waits for it and Bellamy keeps his eyes on her face, checking for it too. It never comes. It’s a strange feeling and a small bit uncomfortable, but oh so good at the same time.

“Bellamy,” she moans as he tests the first thrust.

The discomfort fades with each one and what they’re left with is a sensational connection that can’t be paired or matched to anything Clarke has ever experienced. Bellamy is closer to her than ever and she never wants it to end.

What she would give to stay like this with the man she loves, sharing pleasure in a place that HTS can never matter or damage them. In a world that has destroyed them, their love has put them back together.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy pants.

He keeps a steady pace and Clarke is fine with that. They can experiment later, figure out what feels best. For now, though, this is everything she needs. There’s a familiar wave rising in her body and when it breaks, it washes over every inch of her. Bellamy let's go then too, dropping his forehead to hers and stilling inside of her.

He doesn’t move for a long time, seemingly just as content as she is to stay like this for as long as they can get away with. When he does roll off her, he doesn’t go far. At the loss of him, though, Clarke feels empty in a way that has nothing to do with sex. She misses Bellamy, despite him being right beside her. He’s her other half and it’s never been as obvious as it is in this moment.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, his cheek against his pillow.

Clarke snuggles closer to him, their noses touching. “Never better.”

He grins, pressing another kiss to her lips. “That was amazing.”

“It really was.”

Then, his smile fades out and he adopts a pensive look. “Clarke, about the other day —”

“Bellamy,” she stops him. “Before you can go any further, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He squints at her. “No, Clarke. _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations about Octavia out on you.”

“I should have been more understanding, more open to your plan.”

He blows out a breath. “Maybe I’m acting too rashly with that.”

Clarke places a hand on his face, tracing the line of his nose and cheeks. She used to do this with her dad when she was little, back when she’d climb into her parents bed in the mornings and neither of them would be awake yet. She’d use her finger, pretending she was painting. It was the most soothing thing.

“What did Pike want with you earlier?”

Bellamy purses his lips, his eyes darting between her own. “He was talking about how I’d make a good leader. That he sees promise in me.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Clarke says, running her finger along his chin now.

“Sounded a lot like kiss-assing to me,” Bellamy mutters. “I don’t care what he thinks.”

They stay together, talking and reconciling until it’s almost time for curfew. Reluctantly, Clarke leaves to go back to her own tent. She wishes she could have stayed there with Bellamy, wrapped in his arms and feeling closer to him than ever.

Her heart is lighter after making up with him, after being overdosed in his love for the past few hours. She’s practically giddy as she walks towards her tent.

“Griffin.”

Pike’s voice interrupts her, shattering any good feeling inside of her. Immediately, her defences go up and her shoulders tense. He’s behind her and for a second, Clarke worries that he saw her come out of Bellamy’s tent.

“Make sure and rest up now, it’s mission day tomorrow.”

It is? Clarke swallows and stands straighter, hating that she has to show this man any form of respect. “Yes, sir.”

”You’re improving well.” Pike tilts his head at her. “One of my best students here.”

He says it like they’re in some kind of educational institution, like they’re not attending therapy sessions and kicking the shit out of one another on the daily. The only reason she’s improving is because she wants to get out of this place one day, have the chance at a normal life.

”I just want to get home, sir. See my family.”

Pike looks at her for a long moment before glancing back over his shoulder towards Bellamy’s tent. Clarke’s heart leaps in her chest in anticipation. “You and Blake, you’re from the same homeplace, right?”

Clarke hardens her eyes, hoping to hide the fear behind them. Okay, she needs to calm herself. Realistically, what could he do about them being together? It’s not knowledge she wants him to have but it’s not like he could punish them for being in love.

“Yes, sir.”

Pike nods steadily, giving Clarke a lingering glare. In that moment, she’s sure of it: he definitely saw her coming out of his tent. And he knows it was more than a casual visit, too.

“He’s a good soldier,” he says.

“He’s a good man,” Clarke corrects him, quicker than she can catch herself.

Pike’s eyes change from neutral to something else, like he’s suddenly found a chest of gold that he spent years searching for. “Indeed.”

Clarke’s skin is on edge, each breeze feeling like a knife against it. She’s never spoken with Pike properly before and unfortunately, she would have liked to keep it that way.

“Anything else, sir?”

Pike smiles like he’s impressed and he’s silent in his response for a moment, calculating her with his gaze. Even with every single carrier in here, including Ash, this man makes Clarke feel more uncomfortable than anyone. Someone who isn’t positive for the kill gene, someone who is responsible for naming it and controlling the world with his discovery, someone who ruined her entire life.

“No, Griffin,” he replies, walking off in the opposite direction. “See you tomorrow.”

Clarke blows out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. God, she wishes Diyoza would come back.

* * *

Clarke was on Bellamy’s team for the mission.

She wondered if it was deliberate on Pike’s part, testing how they work together. Still, she didn’t complain. It meant being close with him and away from Ash.

Octavia was the unfortunate soul to be on his team but Clarke thinks out of everyone, she’d give Ash a run for his money. He wouldn’t intimidate her with his usual demeanor. Ash made a show of having her as a partner, though, winking at Bellamy like it’s his life purpose to annoy him. He then followed Octavia into the woods, hot on her heels.

“Jackass,” Bellamy murmured. “If he touches her…”

“If he touches her, he’ll end up with a broken wrist.” Clarke smirked.

Bellamy’s chest released the tension it was holding and he actually smiled, probably knowing that statement was true. Octavia could handle herself.

Now, they stand with their arms behind their backs at the camp gates, darkness folding around them like a cloak. The fire stakes on the fence illuminate their surroundings a little but shadows fall across their faces.

Clarke’s grin is obvious, despite the dim light. Ash actually nods at her in approval, like he’s impressed that she was on the team to apprehend McCreary again. She’s glad of it. It proves that she didn’t need Ash to win last time and she definitely didn’t need him this time. She looks at Bellamy, standing shoulder-to-shoulder beside her. He smirks too, proud of himself.

Their team stuck together this time because that’s how Bellamy likes to have things. They all worked well and it was thanks to Bellamy and Clarke that they managed to locate McCreary. They all pulled together as a unit to detain him. McCreary definitely put up more of a struggle this time, yanking out of his restraints the entire way back. He didn’t make it easy but they were able to drag him to the front gates where Pike was standing, waiting.

“Clarke Griffin,” Pike calls out, snapping her attention away from gloating at Ash. When she looks at him, he’s staring at her curiously. “A common thread in the capture of this man. Impressive.”

She nods in thanks, glancing at Bellamy proudly. He’s not smirking anymore. In fact, he looks on edge. Clarke furrows her brow, desperate to reach out and touch him out of his reverie.

“And well done to the rest of your team,” Pike says, stepping around his guards and pacing the line in between the carriers.

Bellamy just tightens his lips and looks away like he doesn’t want to interact with him. Clarke knows he doesn’t think this camp is anything good and that he’s wary of Pike, but they performed well tonight. He deserves the praise.

“Your prize for your win tonight will be more than just missing exercise tomorrow,” Pike declares, eyeing their team with interest. “Instead, you’ll have the opportunity to prove yourselves.”

Clarke furrows her brow, meeting Raven’s eye at the other side of Pike. She’s wearing a similar expression, obviously trying to figure out what that could mean.

“You are all here to show me that you can follow orders, that you deserve a future with freedom and privileges.” Pike’s voice rings out over them all, floating across tense and silent air. “That you can make something of yourselves, that you are better than the carriers not chosen for Mount Weather.”

Clarke catches Octavia’s eye then and she watches how the fire burns up in her body. Her entire form tenses and she looks like she could kill the man there and then with her bare hands. Bellamy also stiffens beside Clarke at that remark and she knows why. She feels the same: just because they are here, it doesn’t make them better or worse than anyone else. Each of them are human at the end of the day. Pike’s entire mentality is wrong.

“To be honest, I’m still not convinced of this whole specialised training,” Pike announces, clearly making a dig at an absent Diyoza, considering Mount Weather was her idea. “But I suppose this will really tell if you are different from those carriers at the detention camps. Carriers like him.”

He points to McCreary, bound with the restraints Clarke’s team put him in. _What? He’s_ a carrier? Her eyes widen, staring at McCreary in a new light. A sinister tidal wave starts to build inside Clarke’s chest, anxiety in the driver's seat.

He’s not a volunteer, he’s a prisoner.

“McCreary, a former Marine, served his country admirably before the HTS vetting process,” Pike explains. “Then, after being dismissed and released into public life, we became aware of his violent tendencies.”

A guard shoves him forward. Being bound, he falls to his knees easily and Clarke’s heart almost gives way. The urge to help him is ingrained in her and judging by the look on her friends faces, it’s in them too. Harper almost steps forward only Monty catches her hand. McCreary flicks the hair out of his eyes and the light catches the side of his neck. Clarke zones in on his imprint then, the one she hadn’t noticed before.

“He attacked a police officer for trying to apprehend him for being out after curfew,” Pike shouts out. “He was then placed into a detention camp after being considered too dangerous and elusive for Mount Weather.”

Clarke’s mouth has gone dry as she watches the man in front of them, on his knees in the dirt of no-man's-land between two sections of carriers. What the hell is going on here?

How can Pike expect any different from someone as disciplined as McCreary? HTS or not. No wonder he became erratic after being stripped of his titles, of his job and career, of his time allowances.

“He has attempted three escapes in two weeks from his detention camp in Colorado.” Pike stops behind McCreary, glancing down at his prisoner like he’s less than human. “There will be no fourth attempt.”

When Pike pulls the gun out from his holster, Clarke’s pulse jackknifes. Oh God, she’s going to witness someone get killed. And there’s nothing she can do to stop it. McCreary’s lips move quietly and the world tips off balance when Clarke realises that he’s praying. Fuck, she can’t breathe.

Judging by every carrier's face around them, they’re all feeling the exact same way as her. Even Ash has turned a little pale. She doesn’t dare glance beside her at Bellamy’s face because if she does, she’ll surely start to cry.

Why is Pike doing this? To prove a point? To show what can happen if escaping is attempted? Does he know that people were starting to discuss it? Her mind is racing trying to figure out the scene before her.

Pike aims his gun at the back of McCreary’s head for several, agonizing moments until he drops his arm, lowering the weapon. Air slips out between Clarke’s lips, relief easing the tension in her muscles. Maybe he changed his mind.

“Griffin.”

Everything inside of her seizes up and her stomach actually churns. She slowly moves her eyes up and away from McCreary until she lands on Pike, who is holding out his gun for her to walk over and take. His eyes are challenging and when he speaks, Clarke can barely hear him over the ringing in her ears.

“Come and claim your reward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	17. Find Hope in the Hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Chapter title:_ Train Wreck - James Arthur

* * *

**Charles Pike speaking at a press conference about Mount Weather, the specialized training camp for “promising” carriers:**

This camp serves one purpose and that is to teach carriers how to follow orders and serve this country. Whether that is a possibility or not is yet to be determined. If they can’t be trained, they remain a part of the disease that has taken over our world and will be dealt with accordingly.

For those of you who doubt Mount Weather, rest assured that I too share that uncertainty. I am of the belief that we must pay tribute to those who have been taken from us by carriers. Those who have been murdered, robbed, harmed and impacted. We pay tribute by sending a message to carriers, and the message is this:

This great land is ours. Resist and you will be met by force, fight and you will be greeted by death. This is our new beginning. Mark it down. Remember it, just like the carriers will.

* * *

“Griffin, did you hear me?”

The volume of Pike’s voice increases in Clarke’s ears until it’s almost deafening. Maybe it’s so loud because the ringing that was once there has suddenly cut out, or maybe it’s because every single carrier assembled here has gone as silent as a graveyard.

Clarke refocuses her attention on Pike’s face, having eventually pulled her gaze away from the gun in his hand. She’s completely bewildered and horrified.

“I don’t understand,” she croaks out, hardly able to speak.

Pike sighs in exasperation and walks forward, pulling her into the middle of the space between the carriers, forcing her to join him and his guards who are hovering over McCreary. He shoves the gun into her hand, the foreign metal cold against her skin. She glances back up at Pike, shaking her head.

“You can’t be serious.”

McCreary is in her peripheral vision, still on his knees and still whispering a prayer to himself. The other carriers have faded into blurs but even now, Clarke knows they’ve taken a step back.

“Stand close to him,” Pike instructs, guiding her by her shoulders so she’s now positioned behind McCreary. “Take aim and pull the trigger. Expect a kickback so make sure your arm is steady.”

Clarke gapes at him. This is a human they’re talking about but Pike is looking at her like he’s expecting nothing from her, like he’s not asking her to take a life. His voice is emotionless and clinical, no reassurance there whatsoever. She looks at the back of McCreary’s head, noticing the vibration off his body as he tremors. Her stomach almost turns itself inside out.

She flicks her eyes up and her gaze lands on Bellamy. His eyes are locked on her, full of something she can’t quite place. Sorrow? Pain? Clarke’s chest rises and falls heavily, her face hot like she’s going to combust into flames. Bellamy must sense her turmoil and like the good man he is, she can see the need growing in him to fix it. Like a switch trips, he goes to step forward but a guard is quick off the mark. He stops him with a hand against Bellamy’s broad chest, definitely only halting his movement because of compliance on Bellamy’s end.

“I’ll do it,” he offers, staring directly at Clarke and holding out his hand. He flicks his fingers at her. “Give it to me.”

The gun is limp in her hand, weighing much more than she thought a weapon like this would. Her entire body is numb so she doesn’t move at Bellamy’s instruction. Even if she wanted to, she doesn’t think she could lift her arm. Besides, she can’t put this burden on him. He’s just trying to save her, protect her — like always.

“That’s very noble of you, Blake,” Pike says evenly. He glances back at Clarke with challenging eyes, threatening even. “But Griffin here will do it. Won’t you?”

“Is this a test?” Clarke chokes out.

That has to be it. They’re in this camp to prove that they’re not a slave to their genes like Pike’s theory suggests, _that they’re not killers._ Yet, here’s Pike, instructing them to murder people? It’s too thick to even be considered irony.

“It’s an order.” Pike squares his shoulders and walks around McCreary, facing Clarke straight on now. She can see Bellamy’s dark curls over his shoulder, his eyes laser focused on her still. “You said you want to go home and see your family, right? This is how you do it.”

“By being forced to become a violent offender?” Clarke snaps, anger claiming the paramount emotion now.

Pike simply shrugs, unaffected. “You can say no.”

“Then _no_!” Clarke stretches out the gun, offering it back to him with an unsteady hand. “If this is what proves I can follow orders, then forget it. Send me to a detention camp. Do your worst.”

She won’t become a killer, become what the world thinks she already is.

Pike sighs heavily, clearly disappointed, but doesn’t move to retrieve his gun from her. “Very well.”

Clarke blows out a shaky breath, only registering now that her entire body is trembling. She looks down at the back of McCreary’s head, noticing how he’s still whispering to himself. It’s like he already has accepted his fate, knowing he’s about to die anyway. But damn it, Clarke won’t wear his blood on her hands. Pike will have to do it himself if he wants it done.

It’s then that she hears the slide of another gun from it’s holster. She frowns, lifting her head to see Pike staring at her as he eases his second weapon from his hip. Clarke tracks the movement like she’s in a dreamlike state until his gun is pointed directly at Bellamy.

Gasps ripple through the carriers around them and Clarke vaguely registers a shriek, probably coming from Octavia. But none of that sinks in properly. She simply stares at the scene before her, that weird sensation in her body that comes over a person when they’re about to faint. Her knees have weakened and her head is dizzy. There’s a cold sweat breaking out from her temple and trailing all the way down to her toes. This can’t be happening.

Bellamy’s jaw stiffens and his eyes harden, his head tilting back as he stares at Pike. But Pike is just looking at Clarke, scoping out her reaction — probably taking note of how pale she’s turning at every passing second.

She can almost detect a hint of a smirk on his face when he speaks to her. “You shoot, or I will.”

“W-what?” Clarke whispers, still trying to make sense of this.

“You said “do your worst”. Somehow, Griffin, I think this is it for you.”

Hysteria starts to bubble in her chest and tears have already sprung to her eyes. The gun between her fingers shakes more than ever now.

“Are you insane?” Clarke is surprised by how balanced her voice comes out. “What are you even _doing_?”

“Proving that there’s a killer in there,” Pike says bitterly.

Octavia’s voice floods Clarke’s memory in a distant echo. “ _Pike always has a plan. And it’s always the same one. Prove his theory is correct_.”

She was fucking right. This is all some sick science experiment for him. He doesn’t want them to do better, to be better. He just wants the world at his feet, praising him for controlling a disease he found.

Her other hand has clenched into a fist and her nostrils flare as she stares at Pike. Without even thinking, she lifts her gun and aims it at Pike himself. There’s another wave of gasps that erupt from the crowd but Clarke doesn’t care. The hate in her heart forces her finger to curl around the trigger. Her breathing is laboured as she tries to ignore the bile rising in her throat. Pike simply smiles at her, satisfied.

“That’s more like it, Griffin.” He nods approvingly. His gun is still aimed at Bellamy as he stands sideways, his head turned towards Clarke. “But your order is to kill McCreary. Take a look around.” Clarke doesn’t move anything but her eyes, glancing around at about four guards who have their guns pointed at her now. “Think about this. There can be one death tonight or several.”

Fuck. Why does _anyone_ have to die? Pike pulls the hammer back on his gun, clicking it into action. A step-up on his threat against Bellamy.

Octavia is shouting something in the background but it’s a dull noise to Clarke’s ears. She thinks there are guards trying to control her and their friends who are trying their best to intervene but Clarke can’t concentrate on that. All she can do is stare at Bellamy, at the man she loves.

Watching a gun being aimed at him is heart stopping. His beautiful face seems even more delicate in this moment, a divine glow emitting from him like he’s already dead and returned from heaven. He keeps his gaze locked with Clarke the entire time, a peaceful and accepting look in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he tells her, ignoring Pike’s gun in front of him.

 _It’s okay_? To let Pike put a bullet in his head? That will never be okay. _Clarke_ will never be okay if that happens.

“On three,” Pike announces and Clarke’s heart lunges into her throat. How is it fair to make this choice? Either way, someone is going to die.

“One.”

“Wait!” Clarke calls out, her gun still aimed at Pike.

Her threat is doing nothing, perhaps lacking the desired effect because Pike knows how she feels about Bellamy. It’s like he knows she’ll do what he wants her to do because she needs to save him. And damn it, he’s right. She’ll do anything, she’ll stop fighting, just as long as he doesn’t kill him.

“Two.”

“Please!” Clarke screams, shrill and wild and earth shattering.

McCreary is still muttering those words to himself, those prayers. Clarke tries to block them out, she can’t listen to them. Her stomach twists and her heart freezes, preparing itself to be damaged forever.

“Three.”

Clarke’s gun changes direction in a split second, barely taking aim at McCreary’s head before the bullet leaves the barrel. It bursts forward with a loud crack, echoing into the night. It hits it’s target like she is some kind of professional marksman and McCreary’s body thumps against the ground, hollow and lifeless.

And just like that, Clarke has become everything HTS means: Death, destroyer of worlds.

* * *

“Clarke.”

Her name seems to be on repeat, coming out of different people’s mouths. The word slides over her, almost like she’s completely detached from that identity now. Numbness floods her, coating every single organ and snuffing out any other feeling.

She vaguely remembers Pike dismissing them, patting her on the back as if commending her on a job well done. He muttered something into her ear, something like “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He took the gun on his way past and then she was swarmed from every angle, her friends suffocating her further with their concerns.

“Are you okay?” Raven’s sentence is barely out when Murphy follows up with his own.

“Of course she’s not.”

“Her eyes are glazed over,” Harper says. “She’s not with us.”

“Clarke, can you hear me?” Monty takes a turn trying.

All of it just crashes against her ears, not really breaking through at all. Her eyes remain on the body on the ground in front of her, a shape that was once a person. Someone who was breathing and thinking and _alive_ until just a minute ago. Until Clarke killed him.

“ _Clarke_.” Bellamy’s deep, baritone voice snaps her into focus and when she blinks back into reality, he’s standing in front of her with his hands on her arms. “Let’s go.”

Then she’s moving towards her tent with Bellamy guiding her, somehow managing to put one foot in front of the other. The other carriers are watching them go with a lingering gaze but Clarke can’t read the emotion in their eyes. Is it pity? Admiration? They blur past her as Bellamy leads her into camp, leaving McCreary’s body behind.

Their group of friends follow closely on their heels, evident from their pounding footsteps. Bellamy is holding her with both hands, positioned on her elbow and forearm like she’ll somehow fall as they’re walking. It only strikes her that it might be necessary when she stumbles, her legs going from under her.

Bellamy almost falls over as she goes to her knees, the shock rippling through her body until it reaches her stomach. She retches until there’s nothing else to throw up, the hot bile making her throat sting. A cold sweat breaks out across her face and she wishes she could rip off her camp-issued jacket and t-shirt, exposing her skin to the night air like it will stop her from fainting — like it would somehow stop this thing that’s taking over her body.

Nothing will ever erase it, though. She knows it by name immediately, despite the newness of the feeling: guilt. It’s cranked up to an intensity she never thought possible, lodging like cement in her veins and clouding her head in a thick fog. She can’t fucking stand it.

“ _Clarke._ ” Bellamy enunciates the word as if he’s been saying it for ages. “Come on, baby, try to get up.”

There’s pain in his voice too, a crack of emotion waving through it as he helps her to her feet. And then they’re walking again, the tents coming into view and the smell of the campfires filling Clarke’s nostrils. Every single thing makes her want to throw up again: the fires are too bright, the camp is too warm and the sympathy from her friends is too much.

She doesn’t deserve it. She took a man’s life tonight, something that will never fucking leave her. She did exactly what Pike wanted her to do, exactly what everyone thought she would do eventually. The world waited for it with baited breath, their fingers ready to point. A world so afraid of carriers, it makes killers out of the innocent.

If she knew this was what lay ahead of McCreary, she would have let him escape over the perimeter wall. Hell, she would have given him a boost herself. Now, he’s dead because of her and Clarke has learned the hard lesson of what it takes to do well in this camp.

The inside of her tent appears before her and several bodies pile in behind her. As Bellamy leads her to her bed, Clarke searches the surroundings for something familiar, for a part of her old self that still exists. The creativity that was once inside of her very soul is now silent, like she’s completely void of anything good anymore. Pike made sure of that.

What would Wells say to her now? How would her mother look at her? Would Thelonious disown her? Would her father still be proud of her?

Her stomach turns again and she has to purse her lips to stop herself from vomiting.

“Clarke, look at me,” Bellamy whispers softly, suddenly on his knees in front of her.

Time seems to be blurring together, jumping in sequences. The cot mattress she’s sitting on is soft and she wishes she could sink into it, never to emerge. She thought she felt bad after being imprinted? God, she’d relive that again and again for the rest of her life to avoid this.

“She needs water,” Monty says, searching around her tent for a bottle.

“No, she needs to get out of here, we all do,” Raven snaps. “Bellamy, we need to go. Now. We can’t stay here.”

“Raven, let me think for a minute,” Bellamy barks like he’s frustrated and panicked, brushing Clarke’s hair away from her face as she stares at a spot on the ground below her. He keeps ducking his head, trying to catch her eye but she can’t focus on anything right now.

“No, we’ve been saying it for days that we need to run and now look what’s happened!”

“Okay, let’s all just take a breath.” Murphy tries to reason with the chaos inside the small tent. “First, we need to deal with what’s in front of us.”

“Murphy’s right. What matters right now is making sure Clarke is okay,” Harper points out. “She can barely stand, let alone run.”

Octavia’s voice appears inside the tent then, sharp and rough. “What the hell took you so long, Clarke?”

“Octavia,” Bellamy warns.

“No, Bell,” she snaps. “Fuck, what was the hesitation for? Pike could have killed you!”

“She took a man’s life, O!”

Bellamy’s voice sounds deeper up close but Clarke can’t look up, can’t check into anything going on around her. It sounds like there’s a movie playing in the background and she’s half asleep, unable to really focus on what’s going on.

“She took the _wrong_ man’s life,” Octavia spits. “She had the gun, all she had to do was follow through when it was aimed at Pike.”

“And then have the guards kill her?” Murphy chimes in.

“And me,” Bellamy says. “Because I wouldn’t have stood there and let that happen easily.”

“So he would have been killed anyway,” Harper tells Octavia. “And then McCreary.”

“Clarke made the best choice she could.” Raven adds in her defence.

“Pike could be dead right now!” Octavia shouts.

“Fuck, O, what is your obsession with this?” Bellamy stands up now, leaving Clarke sitting on the cot like a fragile child.

There’s a shuffle of commotion after that and then Octavia’s hands are pulling Clarke up. She snaps into high gear, Octavia’s touch triggering her into action.

“Get off of me!” Clarke screams out, hating the sensation of being touched by anyone except Bellamy right now.

Octavia’s eyes are full of fire as Murphy and Harper hold her back, Bellamy standing in front of her to block access to Clarke. She peers out over her brother’s shoulder, burning a hole into Clarke’s skin with her gaze.

“Everyone’s counting on you!” she says loudly.

“I’m doing the best I can,” Clarke cries, sorrow clogging up her lungs.

“Well it’s not good enough.” Octavia shakes her head, her voice now dropping to an even and venomous level. “My brother could have died today if it wasn’t for your last minute reaction.”

“Get her out of here,” Bellamy orders. “And everyone else for that matter, out!”

“We need to talk about what we’re doing,” Raven says from the side of the tent.

“ _Out_!” Bellamy booms. “Now.”

Clarke sinks back onto the mattress, tears pouring freely down her cheeks now as her friends disperse sheepishly. She gets why Octavia is so upset, hell, if someone else waited so long to pull the trigger with Bellamy’s life on the line, Clarke would be just as wound up. However, Octavia’s outburst did nothing except feed the despair inside her chest.

Silence drapes across the air around her when Bellamy is the only one left. He resumes his position in front of her, dropping to his hunkers. He takes her hands between his own, running his thumbs across them softly.

There’s anguish on his face when she looks up. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke stares at Bellamy for the first time since she killed McCreary and like some kind of magic, suddenly the weight of everything is cut in half. He takes the load without even trying, shoulders the burden with her.

Those liquid brown eyes gaze right back at her, serving absolution. It’s there that Clarke finds clarity, finds a light in the tunnel, finds hope in the hopeless. He pulls her out of the darkness, tethers her to the ground in her storm of emotions.

The _why_ comes into the equation now, allowing Clarke to breathe a little. It doesn’t make things easier, but it makes it understandable.

She did this for him.

If she were to go back in time, she’d do it again. Every damn time, the choice is Bellamy. She’d do anything for him, to protect him. It just makes sense.

“Bellamy,” she chokes out, a sob tumbling out after it.

Bellamy pulls her into him in an instant, absorbing the sound against his chest. They stay like that for a while until Clarke’s breath comes back and even then, his touch never leaves her. He brushes his hand over her cheek, wiping the tears away.

“This isn’t your fault,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”

“I pulled the trigger.” She shakes her head and looks down at her clasped hands, disbelief shrouding those words because it’s so hard to accept that they’re true. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Bellamy tilts her chin up with his finger, making her look at him again. “Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things.”

She leans forward until her head is resting against his. God, she does need Bellamy to survive — but that has made her a killer.

“Maybe there’s some truth to this gene theory after all.” She laughs humorlessly, pulling back so that there’s some space between them.

Bellamy looks at her for a long moment. “Putting a gun into someone’s hand and forcing them to choose between two lives has nothing to do with a gene, Clarke.”

She nods solemnly, glad of the slight numbness setting back in after her emotional outburst. Numb is good, manageable. It’s better than feeling everything else full volume.

“Pike is the only one to blame here,” Bellamy says lowly. “He performed that act tonight, no matter how he dresses it up. He had no remorse, no second thoughts. Traits of his supposed carriers.”

“He’s negative.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “And look at the path of violence he carves without having a gene for it.”

Clarke shrugs, defeated. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Bellamy stares at her, studying her face with an intensity that makes her cheeks hot. He’s beautiful in the dull light of her tent, glowing from the low burning lantern and reflecting off the yellow material.

“I guess not.”

She blows out a long breath. “What are we gonna do?”

He sighs through his nose, taking a beat before he answers. “We have to go, Clarke.”

She lets her own eyes fall shut. “Bellamy.”

“I don’t want to become what they’re training us to be,” he says adamantly. “Raven is right, we can’t stay here. What else are they going to make us do?”

“How can it be any worse than what’s already happened?”

“They’ll do that again,” Bellamy tells her. “They used me to manipulate you once.”

She shivers at the thought. Pike knows how they feel about one another, knows Clarke will kill to protect him. Bellamy’s right, they’re at their mercy.

“Maybe he’ll get me to do it next time,” Bellamy murmurs. “And God knows I’ll do it, Clarke.”

He’s right. He volunteered to do it _for_ her tonight, to bare it so she wouldn’t have to. And Bellamy has Octavia in here, too. Pike has even more ammunition against him. Still, the reality of running is absolutely terrifying.

“How can we risk it?” she whispers.

They know what happens if they’re caught escaping. McCreary was evidence of that. She winces at the memory and the sound of his body hitting the ground replays in her mind. Bellamy takes her hands again like he knows, removing her from that place with a simple touch.

“How can we stay?” he asks simply.

And really, there’s no arguing after that. They have to go. Clarke leans in, resting her nose against Bellamy's neck. She takes comfort in his scent, lets it surround her and keep her safe as he wraps his arms around her back.

"I love you," he whispers against her ear. "You know that, right?"

She closes her eyes, grateful for the balm those words provide on her damaged soul. She nods against his shoulder, clutching at his t-shirt with her fingers.

God, she loves him too. More than the human race, more than freedom, more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	18. A Spark That Lit the Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. You make everything worthwhile.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Art of War - We The Kings

* * *

**A meeting between Charmaine Diyoza, lead spokesperson of Eligius Corporation, a human rights organization that rejects Homicidal Tendency Syndrome and opposes Charles Pike’s methods of control and discipline of “carriers”, and the President of the United States:**

_Diyoza_ : You’ve seen the evidence, Mr. President. And now, Pike has resorted to murder to prove his false theory. We need to move, now.

 _President Kane_ : I think you forget that we all have a hand in this, Diyoza. You invented the training camp, I allowed it.

 _Diyoza_ : I invented it to expose him, to get closer, to be the inside man. You allowed it because it was the only decision in front of you at the time. One decision does not define a man.

 _President Kane_ : I allowed it _all,_ including the detention camps that are now overrun with crisis-level conditions. Guards have been killed, multiple escapes have been orchestrated, disease has spread. So now, you just want me to announce to the public that I was wrong about it all? There will be chaos.

 _Diyoza_ : There is already chaos, Mr. President. Look at the bombing of the HTS Agency in Los Angeles. You’ve heard about the riots on the streets. Pay attention to the protesters, the resistance.

 _President Kane_ : Charmaine —

 _Diyoza_ : Mr. President, without sounding audacious, this is no time for ego or pride. These kids... their lives are at stake, their freedom.

 _President Kane_ : I’ll lose respect.

 _Diyoza_ : You’ll lose more than that when the truth comes out and they figure out you continued to allow this madness, even after discovering it. And believe me, the truth always comes out. We can’t keep this up and hope to survive.

 _President Kane_ : … And you’re sure about it?

 _Diyoza_ : Positive. My team proved it is nothing more than a genetic blood modification. Past that, the correlation between that and violence is nothing more than a weak theory. Not enough to warrant captivity of humans or illegal imprinting.

 _President Kane_ : How am I supposed to regain control? There will be lawsuits, more riots from the public, worse prejudice against “carriers” when they are re-introduced to the real world.

 _Diyoza_ : That’s for you to figure out, Mr. President. A good leader corrects their mistakes, does better. These are times when we have to look beyond the rules, to realize they were established to serve a world of the past. Not of the future.

 _President Kane_ : … You’re right. Salvation always comes with a price.

 _Diyoza_ : So, should I go ahead with this?

 _President Kane_ : … Yes. Do it.

* * *

They make their move two days after Clarke killed McCreary.

The night is humid and thick with uneasiness. The entire group is nervous and it proved hard not to show it. They had to continue with their usual routine in camp: run, eat, perform. It wasn’t an option to appear tense or distracted, the guards would notice and that would draw more attention.

Clarke turns her father’s watch around on her wrist, keeping her eyes on the hands at every full circle. She leaves her tent in five minutes. They know the guards rotation and that’s her window to escape. She’ll walk towards the showers, disappear around the back of the building and into the darkness of the forest behind it. She’ll meet the others at the rendez-vous point they have previously agreed to, and then they’ll escape over the perimeter wall before anyone knows they’re missing.

That’s the plan, but Clarke has the biggest ache in her gut about it. Even if it is that easy, what will they do then? They have no contacts, no help to aid their escape. They’ll just have to wing it. Fuck. At least she has Bellamy. All she has to do is get to him tonight and then they’ll work the rest out, together.

She blows out a breath, watching the hand on her watch tick towards the moment of truth. There’s a weight on her chest that pushes her lungs in, makes it difficult to inhale fully. Clarke can’t tell if it’s guilt over McCreary or if it’s nerves anymore.

She looks around her tent, taking in blurred details in the dark. God, she won’t miss this place. It brought her and Bellamy closer but it was at the price of something else. She traded her soul two days ago, swapped it out so that he could live. It’s not a regret but it isn’t a fond memory either.

Clarke touches the imprint on her neck and tries to remember that time of her life, a time that just seems like eons ago. She looked at Bellamy’s mark that day in Sydney’s office and promised herself that she’d never wear that damn tattoo. She never wondered would she ever _deserve_ it. She scoffs quietly to herself because fuck, she definitely does now.

Two more minutes.

She tips her head back, bouncing her feet nervously on the floor. This has to go right. Out of everything, this escape can’t fail. There’s too much at risk here, too many people she cares about on the line. God, how did she let Bellamy convince her to do this? If they’re caught, they’re dead.

Monty and Harper were quiet at dinner, clearly anticipating the danger of leaving. Clarke admired Raven’s determination — she kept mumbling words of encouragement to them all throughout the day, replaying the plan like it was some kind of reassurance to herself as well. Octavia didn’t speak at all. She managed to apologise to Clarke for her actions in her tent, explaining that she was just terrified for her brother that night. Clarke understood it, accepted it and then left it alone. She didn't want to talk about anything got to do with it. And Octavia seemed happy to leave it there, too. Clarke could tell she didn’t want to run away from Mount Weather, but she was going with them anyway. Not that her brother would have allowed anything different. Octavia wanted to stay though, Clarke knew it. She wanted to make sure Pike paid for what he did.

Bellamy has barely left Clarke’s side since McCreary’s death. He was a constant presence, one she fucking needed. He held her hand under the table at dinner, stroking his fingers across her knuckles when they tightened. He ran beside her during exercise and stayed in her tent at night until the very last minute before curfew. He’s worried about her but Clarke is observant enough to know that this is all taking a toll on him, too. The bags underneath his eyes are evidence of his lack of sleep and his shoulders are always too tense, constantly on edge for whatever will happen next.

Murphy watched the camp all day for any indication that the schedule would change. A surprise mission would ruin their escape plan in an instant. Although, it was unlikely considering that Pike left camp in the early hours of this morning.

It should make Clarke feel relieved but instead, it made her even more anxious. Was he off to deliver another press conference? Explain to the world about how a carrier in Mount Weather training camp went rogue and shot someone? He can spin it however he likes and Clarke is sure that he will, anything to bulk out his theory.

Will he name her as a killer like they did with Dax and Mbege? Will the evening news show her photo and say hideous things about her? What will her family think? What will McCreary’s family think? Does he even have a family? Someone to miss him? Those thoughts make her chest tighten.

Clarke peeks out of her tent, scanning the campgrounds for guards. She has less than a minute before she has to move. Her mind races and spins until it’s a mixture of manic thoughts. 

This is really it. The others will already have made their own way out, going in different directions to the rendez-vous point based on guard rotations and their tents. Bellamy’s right, they can’t stay here, but the fear is starting to take over. Clarke’s entire body shakes, her fingers trembling against the tent material as her eyes dart around the place. It feels like she’s right in the middle of one of those thriller movies she used to watch with Wells, like the bad guy is going to catch her any second. Except the only bad guy around here is her. Bellamy argues that it’s Pike, but it doesn’t ease her guilt. She pulled the trigger.

The hand on her watch ticks onto the last second, signalling her to go. Before she can think any more about it, she walks as casually as she can out of her tent and towards the showers. It’s forbidden to even be outside of your tent at this hour but at least if she’s caught, she can make up some excuse that she’s feeling unwell. If they catch her _running_ , it looks much more suspicious.

She didn’t even realise she had been holding her breath until the shadows of the shower building smother her. Fuck. Her back falls back against the cool concrete and she pants like she’s after sprinting here. God, what are they doing? Will they even get far outside the perimeter wall with this ugly imprint on their necks? The thought strikes her that they might have to leave the others, as much as they don’t want to. Their marks put them in more danger.

She can’t think about this now, though. They just need to get over that wall first. She breaks into a run now that she’s clouded by the night. Once she’s in the thick forest, jumping over branches and logs, she lets herself believe that she’s just on a late night run. Fuck, she never thought she’d be thankful for the all the training they did. Except now, she’s pushing herself even harder because of fear.

Her chest burns with an ache that she deserves, her body punishing her for her crime. The awareness is there that there could be guards patrolling the forest but she just hopes that luck is on their side.

Part of her wishes Diyoza had been back before they left. Clarke wouldn’t have dared to tell her their plan because the trust isn’t _that_ strong between them, but she also wonders if Diyoza would have allowed the events that transpired the other night. For some reason, she doubts it.

Clarke’s heart literally stops in her chest when she hears a tree branch snap to the left of her. She skids to a stop, holding her panting breath so she can hear better. Another crack confirms she didn’t imagine it.

“What’s your rush, Clarke?”

She exhales harshly at the sound of his teasing voice. “Fuck, Ash! You scared me.”

He swerves out around a tree, Echo and Ontari in tow. The moonlight illuminates their faces slightly, enough for Clarke to see the two girls scowling at her. They clearly don’t love this idea but they were never ones for making the decisions.

“You were running so fast, I’m surprised you even heard me,” Ash says smartly, sauntering over to her like they’re just talking on a normal day.

Clarke shushes him, turning her head to check her surroundings. There could be guards anywhere.

“You were supposed to meet us by the lake,” Clarke hisses.

Ash shrugs smugly, his bravado on show. “You caught up to us. What is this, a race?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Just come on. And keep quiet.”

He had approached her this morning after breakfast, some foreign expression on his face that she didn’t recognise. He stood in front of her with his hands in his pockets, an awkward silence sitting between them.

“What do you want?” she said bitterly.

If he was coming over to praise her for killing someone, for becoming like him, she didn’t want to hear it. He just stared at her until the look on his face finally clicked with her. It was so unusual, Clarke almost questioned herself if that’s what she was seeing. _Sympathy._

“Are you okay?” he asked when she looked away, bending down to tie her boots.

“Why do you care?” she snapped back defensively. She didn’t trust this side of him, a decent side that only seemed to come out in brief flashes.

She watched his feet shuffle at her eye level. “I’m a lot of things, Clarke. I’ve _done_ a lot of bad things.” She glanced up at him, watching the way his jaw clenched at that. “But the other night? What Pike made you do. It wasn’t right.”

Clarke straightened up in order to face him, a little less agitated. “Didn’t think your moral’s aligned with mine.”

“I am who I am,” he said. “I’m okay with that. But you’re not a murderer, and Pike shouldn’t have turned you into one.”

Hearing the unfairness of it all from someone who pretty much hated her made her want to choke up. Even someone as dark as him could see what Pike did was wrong. She didn’t know why she said it, but suddenly, the words were tumbling from her lips.

“We’re leaving.”

Ash snapped his eyes to her, narrowing them. It made her heart jump inside her chest. The possibility of blowing their cover simmered at the surface. Could she really trust him? She just had to hope that he wanted out of this place as much as they did.

“Leaving?” he repeated numbly.

Clarke nodded. “Tonight. After dark. Are you in?”

Ash stared at her for what felt like hours. She briefly wondered what she’d do if he laughed at her, turned on his heel and tried to expose their plan. It then worried her of why the first thought that came to her head was to stop him by any means necessary. Thankfully, she was saved from that ethical dilemma when he smirked.

“What’s the plan?”

They run through the forest now, the four of them keeping their feet light as they flee towards the rendez-vous point. Clarke hasn’t mentioned the additional bodies to their escape to the others, or to Bellamy for that matter. She knew that there would just be an argument and really, they didn’t have the time for that.

Clarke trusts Ash’s motives enough. He doesn’t have to _like_ Clarke or the others, he just has to want to leave Mount Weather. He gains nothing by ratting them out or staying behind. It’s not like he wants to perform for Pike or climb the ranks. In fact, he doesn’t want anyone telling him what to do.

The sound of the lake comes into Clarke’s ears, trickling through the land like it’s some kind of peaceful place. It’s ignorant to the manipulation in camp, to the violence and evil that surrounds Mount Weather. Clarke envies it. She’ll never be ignorant to that part of the world again.

A lump forms in her throat when she reaches the top of the hill and sees Bellamy at the bottom, doused in the light of the moon as he stands beside the water. He’s restless on his feet, looking like he can’t stand still for a second. Monty and Harper are holding hands, their heads moving every two seconds as they check their surroundings. Murphy and Raven are mid-conversation, their murmurs flowing up to Clarke. Octavia tosses rocks into the water, clearly bored of waiting. Fear doesn’t seem to touch her.

They all made it. Clarke’s chest lightens slightly but there’s an internal warning screaming to her that they shouldn’t get comfortable. Not yet.

Bellamy looks up and spots her in that moment. His shoulder sag with relief and the briefest smile comes onto his face. She can’t help but grin back. Despite everything that’s happened, the euphoria that both of them have made it this far unharmed is too good not to celebrate, even just for a second. His dark curls disguise the look in his eyes but she knows happiness when she sees it.

His joy quickly fades when he sees Ash come up beside Clarke. He must think something is wrong because he breaks into a run towards her, as if Ash and the other two have her held hostage.

She quickly races down the hill to meet him, her hands lifted in surrender. As she gets closer to him, his face is absolutely murderous. “No, Bellamy! Wait.”

He stops in front of her. “What are they doing here?”

“They’re coming with us,” Clarke tells him, glancing over her shoulder to see Echo, Ash and Ontari slowly making their way down to them.

Bellamy shifts his stare between them and Clarke, his eyes searching her for sanity, it seems. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Relax, Blake.” Ash grins, adding fuel to the fire. "Always so hostile."

Bellamy steps forward but Clarke catches him by his bicep. His muscles are tense under her fingers. “We can have round two right here and I'll show you hostile.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

Ash squares his shoulders and moves towards Bellamy sharply. Clarke throws herself into the middle, separating the two of them with her hands.

“Enough!” she hisses, all too aware that they’re running on hourglass time here.

“Testosterone,” Raven mutters from behind Bellamy, rolling her eyes.

Clarke turns towards Bellamy, tilting her head at him. They don’t have time to argue about this and it’s pointless, anyway. She knows why Bellamy doesn’t want them here but God, if it were up to Clarke, she wouldn’t leave any carrier in that goddamn hellhole.

“We can’t just leave them behind.”

He presses his lips together, clearly not a lover of the idea. But she knows him. Deep down, he wouldn’t leave anyone here either, not when they want out. His gaze shifts to Ash behind Clarke, a warning there more than anything.

“You keep up and keep quiet.”

Ash smirks. “You got it, boss.”

And then they’re moving. At any moment, Clarke expects guards to appear with their guns pointed, signalling that their time on this planet is over. It doesn’t happen though. They jog silently through the trees, bathed in moonlight and shadows. There’s no breath left in their chests to talk and even if there was, she imagines that they’d be too afraid to anyway.

She keeps her eyes trained on Bellamy’s back, watching how he leads the way towards the perimeter wall. The urge to whimper from the pain in her muscles dies in Clarke’s throat, the fear of being heard far too overwhelming. She compresses the sound by biting on her lip, counting each step and assuring herself that it won’t be much longer. Bellamy must sense her distress though and throws his hand back for her to take. She grips it tightly, glad to have something to hold on to.

By the time the wall has appeared, Clarke has checked on the others about a thousand times. They trail after them, depending on both her and Bellamy for their freedom. It’s a heavy responsibility. Even Ash, Echo and Ontari look nervous.

Bellamy goes first, climbing to the top with a boost from Murphy. He stands on the edge and uses his boot to push the barbed wire down. It doesn’t work perfectly but if they’re careful, they can get over it unharmed.

Then he’s helping them all, pulling them up by their hands and dropping them with ease on the other side. Clarke hurries them, keeping an eye over her shoulder like this is the moment they’ll be caught. She should be unnerved with it being so easy, like maybe they were _allowed_ to escape. Although, she imagines the guards are just a little lax tonight because Pike is gone. They’ll surely be reprimanded when he realises ten of his carriers have vanished in the night.

She can breathe a little easier when everyone is safely over to the other side. There’s just Ash left and Clarke beckons for him to go first.

“No, you go,” Ash whispers, looking around suspiciously.

Clarke furrows her brow, her heart rate picking up at the sight. “What is it?”

“Go,” he insists, widening his stance.

“What’s the hold up?” Bellamy hisses down to them.

“ _Hey_!”

The distant shout drains the blood from Clarke’s face. Fuck. She knew this was too easy. A guard, clearly covering this section of the woods, emerges from the trees with his gun drawn.

“What are you doing?” he yells.

It's far too loud. He’ll attract the attention of others, that’s if he doesn’t call them on his radio. Adrenaline surges into Clarke’s veins, despite the pausing of her heartbeat. A range of thoughts pass through her head, trying to decide on the best course of action. They’re so close, they can’t lose at the last hurdle.

She’s saved from making any decision when Ash surges forward out of nowhere, taking the guard by complete surprise. He knocks him to the ground with one quick punch, kicking the gun out of his hand and then delivering another strike into his head.

Clarke winces at the crack of his boot against the guards skull. She glances up at Bellamy who is now perched at the edge of the wall, preparing to dive in and help. He quickly realises the same thing as Clarke: Ash doesn’t need any help.

The forest falls back into silence like nothing has happened. Of course, that's not the case. A guard is dead, a man's life taken away in a split second.

Ash picks up the discarded gun, his chest heaving with exertion. Clarke knows what he intends to do. Maybe it’s his body language or maybe it’s just the look on his face that tells her he intends on shooting the guard. She jumps over to him, putting her hand on the rifle to stop him from aiming it.

“Every guard in the area will hear it,” she tells him, her stomach nauseous from being around yet another dead body. She’s terrified to even look down at the guard in case he somehow transforms into McCreary.

“I wanted to be sure,” Ash says, his eyes vacant and staring at the man below him. “But fine.”

Clarke is really reminded who she’s dealing with here. Ash doesn’t have the same conscience as her or Bellamy. He’s lived a different life, chosen different paths. He won’t think about the guards life or if he has a family or not. Maybe guilt is what really divides the dark and the light. Clarke didn’t kill the man but she’s already stricken with the burden of yet another life taken because of them.

For Ash, it was them or the guard — she gets that. He would have sounded the alarm, taken them back to camp. Pike would have returned and dealt with them all accordingly. But really, Ash could have just knocked him out. Was killing really necessary, here?

“Clarke, come on.”

Bellamy breaks her out of her thoughts. She’s still stuck to the ground above the guard, lost in herself. When she looks over, Bellamy is already heaving Ash up to the top of the wall.

She notices a lingering stare between the two of them up there, a silent understanding transpiring between them. Ash nods at Bellamy, gratitude on his expression. They've helped him escape and now, he’s saved them. Bellamy nods back, accepting their truce, even if it’s only temporary.

Ash cascades down the other side to the others while Bellamy turns around, reaching down for her. “Let’s go, baby.”

She takes his hand, letting the warmth of his skin envelope her own. Her heart rate slows and for a brief second, the dangerous world they’re running from fades into the background. It’s just him, heaving her up to safety like always. The guilt fades momentarily, even though her chest is still panting.

When she’s on the top of the wall beside him, he leans forward and presses a kiss to her lips.

“You good, Princess?” he rumbles, leaning in to give her a short hug. His lips brush against her ear.

“Yeah,” she whispers, swallowing thickly. She doesn’t dare look back down at the guard, lifeless on the ground below them. “Let’s just get out of here.”

On the other side, the rest of their friends are waiting for them. That’s not all, though. There’s a shiny, black pick-up truck parked by the treeline. For a second, Clarke thinks they’re caught again and her heart almost comes out through her throat. That is until she sees Echo and Ontari sitting on the truck bed, their knees folded up under their chins.

Bellamy and Clarke exchange a curious glance before jumping down to join them.

“What happened back there?” Raven mumbles quietly as they start walking towards the truck, watching Ash who is also making his way over.

The entire roadside is deathly quiet, not even a breeze blowing. It’s the dead of night and even their footsteps on the gravelled roadside seem too loud.

“I’ll tell you later,” Clarke says lowly, only really noticing now how much her voice is shaking.

Raven puts her hand on her back comfortingly, clearly sensing that she needs it. Clarke gives her a tight lipped smile, grateful more than ever that they’ve all made it this far. Octavia falls into step with Bellamy who is already in the middle of the road, following Ash.

“What is this?” he calls over as low as he can.

Ash turns, walking backwards towards the truck as he smirks at Bellamy. “Call it an eye for an eye.”

Clarke looks over at the man in the front seat of the truck. His hair is long and tied back at the sides but it’s too dark to see anything else. He doesn’t make eye contact with them but he’s clearly irritated that they’re taking so long to get inside.

“An eye for an eye?” Clarke squints at Ash.

Ash shrugs one shoulder. “You helped us, now I help you. We’re square.”

It sinks in then. He has a contact on the outside, someone to help them escape properly. A plan that takes them further than just the outside of this wall. Bellamy turns to look at Clarke, a silent question in his expression: _are we doing this_? She sighs quietly in resignation. Do they have any other choice? She nods in confirmation.

Bellamy holds her gaze for a moment before beckoning at Murphy, Harper and Monty to follow him. They were lingering at the side of the road, clearly uncertain of this stranger that's here to taxi them to God-knows-where.

The road is empty. It’s too eerie, too quiet. Clarke just wants to get the hell out of here. The still air is terrifying. She can hear every footstep, every movement as they make their way across the road. The sounds threaten to expose them at any given moment. She shudders out a breath, hating how exposed they are. Behind the wall, they had the cover of trees to a certain extent.

They all pile into the bed of the truck, glancing skeptically at one another. Monty helps Harper up as Ash leans in the window, telling his friend to get moving. The man in the truck, who Clarke hears Ash address as Roan, starts the engine and then they’re leaving Mount Weather far behind.

They drive in silence for about fifteen minutes and only then can Clarke start to relax. Nobody is going to stop them now.

“Are you sure about this?” Bellamy asks quietly beside her, his arms brushing against hers. “We’ve just seen what Ash's idea of help is.”

Clarke has been thinking about it since the moment it happened. Even though her and Ash are ethically extremely different, sadly they share a common thing now. She thought she would have done things differently back there, maybe just knocked the guard out. But maybe she wouldn’t have. It’s terrifying to think about and in the moment, when disgust and guilt ran at her, it was easy to decide on a different course of action than Ash's.

She supposes that when she shot McCreary, everyone else had similar thoughts. Maybe they wouldn’t have killed anyone, maybe they would have tried to save them both, or in Octavia’s circumstances, maybe she would have killed Pike and not McCreary.

Clarke can’t judge Ash’s actions. Not by any means.

“He was scared. He wanted to escape,” she says, looking at Bellamy. His brown eyes look even deeper in the muted darkness of night. They threaten to engulf her and God, she’s so tired right now that she’d happily let them.

“Clarke, it’s not logical to —”

“Fear is never logical, is it?” Clarke sighs quietly. “Pike, HTS — it was all made possible because of fear. I killed McCreary because of it.” Bellamy’s eyes dip, sympathy roaring through them. “Ash killed that guard because of fear, too. It doesn't have to be logical. It’s still one great motivator, though.”

Bellamy nods. He's processing her words, she can see it behind his eyes. “I guess we’ll just have to hope we’re safe, wherever we end up.”

That reminds her. “Maybe we should go our separate ways,” she suggests quietly. “There’s five of us with imprints now. We put the others at risk. We could —”

“Not happening,” Octavia mumbles from across the truck.

All of them have their eyes closed so Clarke assumed they were asleep. She feels Bellamy chuckle beside her and Clarke smiles. She should have known that option wouldn’t fly with the rest of the group.

She looks at Bellamy, watching his hair blowing in the wind and the dark countryside spinning past him in blurs. She’ll be damned if, even on the worst days, he’s not the most beautiful thing to ever exist. Clarke leans her head onto his shoulder and closes her eyes. He leans his head down on hers and inhales deeply. Strangely, this is the most secure she’s felt in a long, long time. Even though they’re not exactly safe yet.

And so, Roan takes them through back roads until they’re so far away that Clarke is sure even satellites can’t find them. She has to wonder how Ash got a message out so quickly, how this man knew to be here waiting for him. Still, she doesn’t question it. He has his ways and they have theirs. They got what they wanted: they’re out of that dreaded place.

Bellamy takes her hand, cups it between his own and gives it a light squeeze. They have a taste of freedom now, Clarke just hopes it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out Miranda's [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


	19. There'll Be Days Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're saying goodbye to this fic after this chapter, guys! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
>  _Chapter title:_ Days Like This - Dermot Kennedy version

* * *

_July, 2023. Six days before the President calls for HTS to be discredited._

**Interview between Diana Sydney and Wells Jaha:**

_Diana Sydney_ : Thank you for coming to see me today, Wells.

 _Wells Jaha_ : I didn’t realise I had a choice.

 _Diana Sydney_ : This is just an informal interview, a chat if you will.

 _Wells Jaha_ : The last time you came for a chat in my house, it was to tell Clarke that she wasn’t going back to Arkadia.

 _Diana Sydney_ : Your step-sister—

 _Wells Jaha_ : My _sister_.

 _Diana Syndey_ : She’s a criminal.

 _Wells Jaha_ : She’s a kid. And your people took her away.

 _Diana Sydney_ : Look, have you heard from her? Has she tried to contact you?

 _Wells Jaha_ : Why? Did you lose her?

 _Diana Sydney_ : …

 _Wells Jaha_ : (laughter) Good. I hope you never find her.

 _Diana Sydney_ : You do understand aiding a carrier in any way is now considered a crime under Pike Act. If you have any communication with her and fail to report it, you face legal action. You do understand that?

 _Wells Jaha_ : I understand that you can go to hell.

* * *

The news is several days old by the time it reaches them.

Roan’s ranch is isolated and he doesn’t own any technology. The only way information ever gets out here is from the humble gossip in the next town. Roan visits about once a week to get groceries and he heard it from the old man at the corner store.

European detention camps fell first, followed shortly by the US ones. The president discharged Pike of any former power and is in the middle of dismantling his laws. HTS is discredited, just like Wells predicted when Clarke was first diagnosed. The tide has turned.

At first, they all celebrated. Bellamy’s eyes drifted to hers in awe when Roan delivered the news and he rushed at her the second they had heard it all. His fingers curled around the back of her neck and he brought her into the most exhilarating kiss. His lips were bruising but God, every single piece of him tasted like happiness.

Raven and Murphy hugged tightly while Harper and Monty whooped and cheered. Even Octavia, who had been brooding quietly over her disappointment of not killing Pike herself, looked relieved. It seemed to hit Ash, Echo and Ontari quicker than the rest of them that just because they’re free, it doesn’t mean everything will be okay.

Prejudice will still exist and people will still believe in it. Even with science and studies, it’s hard to change a mind that doesn’t want to be changed. When that sunk in, the celebrations died down.

Roan’s ranch is large and open, enough space to house every carrier in Mount Weather comfortably. It’s barricaded by a large forest with just one laneway leading in or out of it. It’s secure and safe, which is all they can hope for. Clarke is used to being in woods now, surrounded by trees at every turn. She’s not sure how she’d ever go back to living in Shallow Valley, full of houses, people and judgemental eyes.

She’s outside now, sitting with her back against a tree at the edge of the forest. The sweet smell of summer is rich in the air and Clarke finds herself aching for a different tree, one that she and Bellamy discovered the day of her birthday. The field was beautiful and so was the company. Life was simpler then, even when she thought it wasn’t. Back when she thought the worst thing in the world was getting imprinted. She wears a different scar now, one that isn’t visible to the naked eye.

Of course she feels the joy of knowing she’s not born to be violent, that’s not in her DNA to kill. Yet she did. She still sees McCreary’s face at night, probably always will. She can put her mind to other things during the day but at night, when the subconscious mind takes over, she’s forced to relive it. It’s her punishment for taking a life, one she deserves.

“Hey, Princess.”

Bellamy breaks her out of her thoughts and her head shoots up from her book, one that she found on Roan’s bookshelf in the living room. To be honest, she was just re-reading the same line over and over again.

He’s walking towards her, a loose smirk on his lips and his dark curls blowing in the gentle breeze. His imprint looks thick and black in the sun.

“Hey.” She smiles, keeping her eyes on him as he slumps down beside her.

“Think Roan is doing barbeque tonight,” he informs her. “It’s warm enough for one.”

Their legs brush off one another and Clarke’s skin buzzes with electricity. She’ll never tire of this effect from just his mere presence.

“Everyone will enjoy that.”

Bellamy reaches over and intertwines their fingers, watching them fold around one another like a puzzle piece. They’re quiet for a few minutes, soaking up one another’s existence. They’ve been through so much together. It’s strange to think back on their first encounter at Diana Sydney’s office and everything they’ve experienced since. They’ve come a long way.

They sit here now with nothing to their name, just each other. The only things they took with them when leaving Mount Weather were their most prized possessions: Clarke took her father’s watch around her wrist while Bellamy took the drawing she did of him, crumpled and folded in his pocket.

“So,” Bellamy rumbles, the deep vibrations of his voice travelling through her. “What do we do now, Clarke?”

She looks over at him, observing the slouch of his shoulders against the tree bark. He doesn’t meet her eye though, like he’s anticipating some answer that he doesn’t want.

What _do_ they do now? It’s been a long time since they’ve had a choice, free will - and even longer since she got to make actual decisions about what _she_ wants. She doubts Sanctum University will be extending an offer out again based on her lack of HTS and to be honest, she doesn’t think she’d take it anyway. She wants to see her family, of course, but she doesn’t even know if she belongs there anymore. All she knows is, wherever she goes, Bellamy needs to be there.

“I don’t know where it feels like home anymore except here,” she tells him, tightening her grasp on his hand.

Bellamy glances at her now. “The ranch?”

“No.” Clarke lets her head rest against his shoulder, gazing out at the stables in the distance. “ _Here_.”

His body relaxes at her words, like he was nervous of something. “So, you still want to be with me?”

She snaps her head up, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Bellamy, of course.”

He lets out a long breath. “I just didn’t know if you’d want to go back to your old life, and I didn’t know if that included me.”

“Bellamy.” She shifts a little so she’s facing him more. “There is no old life or new life. There’s just you and me.”

He leans in immediately, capturing her lips with his own as if sealing that promise. How could he ever think she could be without him? She wouldn’t survive, _wouldn’t have_ survived this far if it wasn’t for him.

When they pull apart, she leans her forehead against his own, keeping him close. “I just don’t have it all worked out yet. Maybe we can figure it out later?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispers, pressing his lips against hers again.

“Alright, you two are nauseating.” Roan’s voice meets Clarke’s ears and when she pulls away from Bellamy, she notices he has tossed a bag of charcoal at their feet. “Everyone else is helping.”

Clarke bites back a smirk as she glances at Bellamy, who is mirroring her expression. They’ve learned Roan has as much wit as Ash and twice as much sarcasm. He’s rough around the edges but he’s not the worst. There’s something likable about him, something good.

Bellamy gets up first, helping Clarke to her feet with one hand. “Suppose we better make ourselves useful.”

Clarke grins, following Bellamy towards the large farmhouse that Roan owns. It’s a long way from Mount Weather, that’s for sure. For one, it has warm water for showers and electricity. The place feels homey and welcoming, especially when darkness falls and there’s long, fairy-like lights hanging from all the trees. Clarke wonders if Roan did this or if a member of his family used to own it. She can’t imagine him putting in such detail into the ranch.

They grill their food underneath the stars, laughing and getting lost in the odd sense of peace they’ve found here. Clarke is sitting on Roan’s old porch swing, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stares out at her found family.

Murphy is at the picnic bench, trying to put ketchup on his burger. He ends up squeezing it too hard, resulting in the bottle bursting and splattering him in sauce. Raven doubles over laughing, barely able to catch her breath. Murphy retaliates by chasing her with ketchup on his hands, threatening to share the disaster.

Clarke chuckles, shifting her gaze to Octavia next. She’s been distant but from what Bellamy has told her about his sister, she’s always been independent. She’s happy sitting on a lounge chair, eating a hotdog beside Roan. They seem to be engrossed in conversation and sharing lingering looks, something Clarke doesn’t miss. It’s not the first long glance she’s noticed between them either.

Echo and Ontari keep to themselves too. They’re by the extended table that they pulled out from Roan’s house, filling their plates with salad and fixings. As much trouble as they started out as, they just seem to be trying to find peace now as much as the rest of them.

Harper and Monty are turning burgers on the barbeque, giggling at one another like two love struck kids. Well, that’s all they are. Harper’s arm slots in around Monty’s back as she leans into him and Clarke can’t help but beam at them. They found each other in that dreaded place that was Mount Weather, somewhere love wasn’t meant to be. Not all that different from Clarke and Bellamy. Their love was born in adversity and bloomed through war.

She looks around for him now, spotting him across the yard at the stables. He’s stroking a black horse who has his head out of it’s door, chatting with Ash of all people. She zones in on them, only faintly able to hear what they’re talking about.

“She’s strong,” Ash notes, neither of them looking over but Clarke knows they’re talking about her. “It’ll get easier.”

Bellamy shakes his head, running his hand over the horse's nose. “I just don’t want her to bottle things up. She was never meant for this world, never meant to do the things they made her do.”

“Some causes are worth killing for,” Ash replies. He grabs Bellamy’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring shake. “She has you. You’ll get her through it.”

Bellamy nods, his lips tight together. There’s a mutual respect born from their journey together, if nothing else. Bellamy and Clarke helped Ash escape and he returned the favour by providing a safe house. They made it because of an unspoken alliance between them all.

When Bellamy turns his head, his eyes connect with Clarke’s. He shoots Ash a short smile, gratitude blended into it, and makes his way up towards the porch. She doesn’t want him to worry about her, but she guesses that it’s an emotion that comes with being in love with someone. Just as she wants to bear his burdens along with him, he would naturally want the same.

“Hey,” she greets him softly as he steps up to her level.

“Hey, yourself.”

Bellamy blows out any air left in his lungs, nudging her over with his leg playfully. She scoots across, pretending to be irritated but the smile on her face gives away her true intent. Once he’s cuddled up on the swing with her, she shares the blanket with him and tosses her legs across his. He holds onto her knee, pulling her even closer.

“So, there’s something I thought I’d never see.” She smirks, nodding towards Ash who is joining Echo and Ontari.

Bellamy huffs out a laugh. “What?”

“A friendship?”

“A friendship might be pushing it.”

She giggles, slotting her hand over his own. They fall into a comfortable silence as he begins to play with her fingers, tracing his own over them. The swing rocks them gently under the star packed sky, their friends laughter providing soothing background noise. The warmth of him beside her, his scent surrounding her - she never thought she’d feel this safe again.

“I’m okay, you know,” she mumbles, hoping to soothe his worries even if it’s with a lie.

Clarke feels Bellamy stiffen a little and he holds her hand a little tighter. “You cry in your sleep sometimes.”

She glances at him. _Oh_. She didn’t know that.

“I hold you until you stop, but it’s hard to fall back asleep after it.” He turns into her a little more, tilting his head to the side. “I hate that you’re in pain.”

Aren’t they all? That’s the thing, HTS has caused all of them so much damage, trauma and hardship. It’s unfair to make comparisons or to demand that their pain is worse. She doesn’t want to be selfish and complain about it.

What Clarke did will never leave her and she doesn’t deserve to be free of it. Taking a life attaches a concrete weight to the killers wrists, pulling them down, drowning them at sea. It’s a consequence, and it must be carried alone. One must learn to swim with it, use it to make them stronger, or let it drag them to the dark murky depths below, never to emerge again.

He squeezes her hand under the blanket, clearly to bring her back from her thoughts. “Look, if you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you.”

She gazes at him, wondering how the hell she got so lucky. Their life has been nothing but jumps and dives but no matter how far she’s dragged down, Bellamy is always there to pull her up and breathe life back into her body. Maybe Ash was talking sense - as long as she has Bellamy, she can get through anything. Love heals, and she has the best love of all.

“It won’t always feel this bad, right?" _God, she has to believe that._

Bellamy gives her a soft smile. Then, he reaches under the blanket and pulls a small yellow flower out of his pocket. Clarke finds herself holding her breath, smiling widely. It’s a little tattered from being in his pocket but it’s the same type as the one he gave her all that time ago, in a field back home.

“Bellamy.”

She takes it from him, turning the tiny thing between her fingers. Bellamy is quiet but she feels his eyes on her. 

“It’s a little broken,” he says after a moment, leaning over to brush a petal gently with his thumb. His touch lingers on her hand after that, gracing it with featherlight touches. “It’s not as whole as the first one I gave you on your birthday, but it’s still strong.”

She looks up at him now and it takes her a second to understand what he’s saying. He’s not talking about the flower.

“This one is severed from its root, but it _will_ grow back.” His eyes connect with hers now, a faceoff between brown and blue. “The dirt has a way of producing something beautiful out of something ugly.”

Clarke didn’t realise that she had started to cry until Bellamy swipes a tear away from her cheek with the back of his hand. She leans into his touch and he cups her face, running his thumb across her skin. God, she loves him so damn much.

“Mount Weather almost broke us,” he whispers. “It was a prison that preached about purpose - but we’re free now. We can do whatever we want, go wherever we want.” He takes her hand and brings it up to his lips. “We can start again. Grow back.”

A sob tumbles out of Clarke’s mouth. She didn’t realise how much she needed to hear that. Bellamy pulls her into him, cradling her in his arms as she cries. It’s not sadness, though. No, it’s _relief_.

Starting over sounds like the most perfect plan, especially with Bellamy by her side. He’s right, Mount Weather was the final straw at the end of a very long and hard journey. She thought she just had to show she was good enough to be there but the price ended up being too high. It demanded too much of them, too much of her. One more impossible choice, one more piece of her soul on the line.

When her sobs subside, Bellamy releases her from his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I am.” She breathes out a long breath. “I really am.”

“I love you so much, Clarke,” he whispers, his eyes fuelling that statement with everything he’s made of.

She smiles back at him, the first one that’s reached her eyes in a long time. “I love you too.”

Bellamy leans back against the swing, squinting out at their friends below them. They’re all enjoying themselves, oblivious to their conversation on the porch.

He pats her knee, pushing himself up. “I think we deserve a drink.”

She smirks at him, nudging him with her foot on his way past. “Get one for me.”

He kicks back his boot, returning the motion playfully as he grins. Her eyes follow him as he steps down from the porch, making his way over to the ice barrel full of beer.

The weight that has been residing on her chest since Mount Weather somehow feels a tonne lighter, like Bellamy has taken some of it away with him. He really is there to share the burden with her.

Clarke watches him as he laughs at a joke Murphy shoots his way while picking up two bottles from the barrel. His long curls jump in time with his shoulders, the joy breaking free from his body. She smiles, taking comfort in the fact that even though they’ll have to carry ghosts with them into their future and deal with prejudice, they’re still _free_.

Free of HTS, free to be at peace, free to grow back — together.

* * *

_Alaska, September, 2024_

Clarke blows heat into her hands, through the thick gloves that cover her fingers. It’s still not enough to warm her, especially given that it’s apparently the coldest September on record.

The high mountains around her are a perfect backdrop for painting but she’s finding it hard to get them exactly right. She still needs more practice. Her boots drag through the thick snow, pulling her closer to the shed at the back of their cabin.

Bellamy has adapted to the cold better than her. He’s dressed in a simple black long sleeve with a red flannel over it, rolled up at the elbows as he thumps his ax against the wood. She smiles, shaking her head as she tugs her woolen coat around herself even more.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she calls out.

Bellamy pauses in swinging and looks up. His dark hair curls around his ears and he swipes them away from his forehead, a thin veil of sweat there.

“My saviour,” he quips, a brilliant smile coming across his face. It sends a heat rushing around Clarke’s body. He tosses his ax to the side so he can come out to meet her. “I’m starving.”

Learning to serve a good roast is one of the many tasks Clarke has mastered since moving here. She made too much today, overestimating the portions again — but it still tastes divine. Bellamy wraps his arm around her, pulling her in for a kiss. Clarke beams up at him, observing the redness on his cheeks from the cold. He rubs his nose against hers, making her giggle.

She never thought she’d find peace like this. It’s isolated here but it’s not the end of civilization. They have neighbours and there’s a small town at the base of the mountain with a couple of nice restaurants.

It’s better than any future she imagined for herself — before she had HTS and after. They’ve grown back, stronger than ever. Bellamy interlaces his fingers with hers, swinging her hand as they walk back towards the cabin. It’s a beautiful day. The skies are clear, despite the bitter cold biting at their skin and the thick snow under their feet. It really is their own little paradise.

The world still isn’t perfect. Most carriers have taken to living in communities, feeling safer in large numbers. A few returned to their hometowns and families, trying to reclaim pieces of their old lives. She even heard of a few who had their imprints lasered off. Others didn’t survive at all. And then some are like them, rebuilding their lives in remote locations — places where they don’t have to look over their shoulder.

Clarke teaches art lessons five days a week and Bellamy has just signed his first book. Rent is low here and their incomings greatly exceed their outgoings. Life is comfortable. Scratch that, life is great. It’s everything they thought they could never have — both of them.

They’re survivors now. That’s what the imprints on their necks represent and it’s why they kept theirs. They came out the other side of a great war against humanity, which is what the resistance groups have taken to calling it. 

Charles Pike is only mentioned in a negative light now, a dictator who sought to wipe out a bloodline in the human race. Clarke has no idea what became of him.

Her mother filled her in on Josephine and Finn. Her ex works in with a law firm now. Apparently, a lot of their cases are to do with victims of “HTS crimes”. Most courts don’t even recognize that anymore so she doubts they get a lot of success.

Josephine died back when Clarke was in Mount Weather. A protest rally gone wrong, apparently. It’s ironic that she died at the hands of “normal citizens” when they were out demanding peace, fighting against violent carriers.

Ash, Echo and Ontari remained at Roan’s ranch longer than the rest of them. She never heard from them again, but she often thinks about them — Ash especially. He even gave her a brief hug when they separated. It’s funny what shared trauma does to people. A special bond is formed and it will exist for life. It’s one all carriers have now.

Clarke and the others returned to Shallow Valley for a while, but it became apparent very quickly that it was no longer home. Still, they had people to see, families to reunite with first. They hitched rides from town to town, considering flights were off the question to carriers that soon after the dismantlement of camps.

She still remembers standing outside her family home after an old pickup truck dropped her off. The others had gone on to their own houses, ready to reunite with their loved ones.

Tears filled Clarke’s eyes at the sight of the house. Nothing looked different but fuck, everything was. Her family must have seen the truck pull up through the front window because in a split second, their door flew open and Wells stood in the doorway, staring out at her.

“Wells,” she whispered, a cry bursting out at the same time.

Like a gun went off, he tore down the steps towards her at the same time as she took off towards him. They met in the middle of her garden, crashing into one another with an overwhelming sense of relief. They had no means of contacting each other since the day she left for Mount Weather so reuniting with him felt almost painful.

Wells’ chest heaved against her own, both of them crying as they held one another.

“You didn’t give up.” He sobbed against her shoulder.

She sniffled. “I promised you I wouldn't.”

Looking over his shoulder, she locked eyes with her mother. Tears were already pouring down her face but she stood frozen by the front door, like she could hardly believe what she was seeing. Thelonious emerged from behind her mom and they all ran, an intense urgency in their movements. Clarke fell into their arms and God, they must have spent an hour there — just crying and marvelling at the fact that this was over.

Bellamy and Octavia went back to their mother’s for a while and from what she gathered, it was an emotional reunion too.

Clarke glances at Bellamy now, his golden skin contrasting beautifully against the snowy backdrop. It feels like decades since they’ve been in Shallow Valley.

Wells works with Diyoza now, who Clarke learned was instrumental in taking down Pike’s reign. Apparently, Wells was in on it from way back then. They’re a part of Eligius Corporation, a human rights organization that now spreads awareness and fights against prejudice of carriers. Wells always wanted to do more, to fight for what was right in the world — he definitely landed his dream job.

Octavia is getting better at keeping in touch. She’s a loose canon, though, travelling the world and living her best life. Clarke thinks she revisited Roan’s ranch a few times since they left but it’s hard to tie her down anywhere. Now that she has her freedom, she’s using it.

Raven and Murphy are living in Vancouver, now. They write often and even visited last Christmas but fuck, Clarke misses them — Bellamy even more so. Monty and Harper visit a little more often, given that they are just a couple of towns over. They have a kid now, also relishing in the beauty of Alaskan life.

All of them are just trying to figure out a new normal, their own way to live.

“What’s for dinner?” Bellamy asks, lifting her hand and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“Roast.” She knocks her shoulder against his as they walk.

“Did you make your famous potatoes?” His grin is boyish as she looks at him and she laughs. He knows how proud she is of those.

“A lot of them,” she admits. 

Suddenly, a distant shout from the front of the cabin echoes around them. Neighbours often stop by, despite the fact that there’s a few miles between each house. The people up here don’t care if someone is a carrier or not, there’s just community and acceptance. The way a life is lived is deemed more important than past actions and kill genes.

Bellamy’s hand never leaves hers as they clear the side of the cabin. Their gaze lands on their visitor — no, _visitors_. Clarke’s mouth slowly turns up when the recognition kicks in, spotting her mother, Thelonious, Aurora, Wells and Octavia get out of a rented blue jeep. She screams, breaking free from Bellamy and tearing across the snow to reach them.

She crashes into Wells first who breaks out into a laugh. “Hey, sister.”

“What are you guys doing here?” she babbles, turning to see Octavia launch herself at Bellamy.

“Thought we’d surprise you kids.” Aurora smiles, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s cheek when Wells releases her.

“We’re definitely surprised.” Bellamy chuckles, spinning Octavia around. “I thought you were somewhere in Brazil?”

“And miss a family reunion?” Octavia swats his shoulder when he lets her down. “I don’t think so.”

“Hope we’re not imposing?” Thelonious hugs Clarke next and then moves onto Bellamy, pulling him in tightly.

“Not at all.” Clarke thinks her face is going to split, she’s smiling that much. “In fact, dinners on. There’s plenty.”

“Excellent! We’re famished,” her mother closes the jeep door, stepping towards them in a scarf and way too many layers.

A lump forms in the back of Clarke’s throat when she hugs her. The happiness is overwhelming.

Their guests start making their way towards the cabin, laughing and chatting as they go. Their two families came together for them. Clarke can’t move though. The view is too perfect.

The sun is starting to drop, meaning bursts of orange and pink are starting to scatter their way through the sky. The brilliant white snow crunches under their families feet and their laughter echoes out through the snow capped hills around them. She briefly wonders how on Earth she arrived here? The moment is heavenly. She thinks of her dad, how happy he’d be to see this too.

Bellamy pauses, looking over his shoulder for her. He extends his fingers back, a smile as wide as hers on his lips. “You coming, Princess?”

Clarke quickly wipes a stray tear that has fallen down her cheek. She nods, running to catch up and take his hand in hers once more. Her head drops against his shoulder as they walk towards their home.

She takes in a large gulp of the crisp air, turning her face to the clear sky above her. This kind of happiness fills every part of her up.

She doesn’t even feel the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, out!
> 
> Guys, I cannot even begin to thank you enough for coming on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it and I just want you to know how much I appreciate every single one of you. The comments, messages and encouragements have kept me going along the way. As I said at the beginning, I almost deleted this whole thing several times but thanks to you, I finally got it finished. Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you'll be happy to know that I've signed up for Bellarke Big Bang 2021. Keep an eye for that coming in June.
> 
> A special thank you to Essie, Ciara, Hana and Mobi and all of my discord babes who helped me with this fic. For those of you who gave me inspiration and encouragement when I needed it most to those of you who pre-read entire sections for me, I'll forever be grateful.
> 
> Also, I want to mention Bri, who created stunning [fanart](https://underbellamy.tumblr.com/post/627358217549299712/bellarke-fanfiction-dedication-i-found-peace-in) that shows their imprints - I love you so much.
> 
> Care created this [aesthetic](https://infp-with-all-the-feelings.tumblr.com/post/643776572211527680/i-finished-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-earlier) for this fic and I'm honestly in love with it. It fits the story perfectly so thank you so much for this!
> 
> I can't go without reiterating how thankful I am to Miranda. She stepped up when my artist this year left me hanging and brought a smile to my face again. That kindness is so special and it shows what a wonderful person she is. The pieces she created will forever live in my heart and if you haven't checked them out yet, please do and show them the love they deserve. Here is the [trailer](https://youtu.be/nwtY2PpDS1k) and both gifsets ([1](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627253219693838336/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt) and [2](https://sparklyfairymira.tumblr.com/post/627252932929372160/artwork-for-i-found-peace-in-your-violence-pt)).
> 
> Here is the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kBA9iWRzwXXZgjizVh79X?si=V8x_FN2lQOGUU6YJPNIbeA) for this fic and you can find me and the aesthetic for this fic on [tumblr](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/625257744476323840/i-found-peace-in-your-violence-a-bellarke). You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100).


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